


Eyes in the Mirror

by kyojinouji



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Angel! Wooyoung, Attempted Sexual Assault, Bartenders, Clubbing, Drug Abuse, Eventual Smut, Friends With Benefits, Guardian Angels, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Minor Character Death, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, There are other angels too but they're a secret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:47:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23661796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyojinouji/pseuds/kyojinouji
Summary: They say that humanity was doomed the moment angels began to fall. Descendants of the fallen are cursed with one ability; to see their soulmate die time after time. With only three chances to protect them, those dubbed 'guardian angels' must learn to make it count. However, soul bonds are rare and nearly unheard of. It just so happens that eight unfortunate individuals enter a constant loop of asking each other, "do you believe in angels?"orSan finds himself in a downward spiral only to be intercepted by a particular guardian angel with a lust for life.✩ Inspired by a TikTok POV trend.
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Kang Yeosang, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 12
Kudos: 117





	1. Young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Suicidal thoughts and tendencies are a VERY prominent topic in this fic. They will be recurring throughout the full story. Please proceed with caution.
> 
> ✩ Title from Elevator (엘리베이터) by Jonghyun.  
> ✩ Playlist for fic-themed songs linked in the lyrics below.

> [ _ “I don't use the same pills anymore. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4PlW9P92ii0BI1U2JcG91U?si=Zehq1mbFSt-pC8McBuL-Wg)
> 
> [ _ I don't feel that false peace anymore. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4PlW9P92ii0BI1U2JcG91U?si=Zehq1mbFSt-pC8McBuL-Wg)
> 
> [ _ I only ask myself, what am I feeling for? _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4PlW9P92ii0BI1U2JcG91U?si=Zehq1mbFSt-pC8McBuL-Wg)
> 
> [ _ Why every headache is a holy war.”  _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4PlW9P92ii0BI1U2JcG91U?si=Zehq1mbFSt-pC8McBuL-Wg)
> 
> [ **_Young_ ** _ \- DBMK _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4PlW9P92ii0BI1U2JcG91U?si=Zehq1mbFSt-pC8McBuL-Wg)
> 
> * * *

Obsidian is the only thing San knows as he steps onto the balcony of the hotel. On his tongue, the sea salt breeze mixes with the tangy bourbon the owner of the room had left behind to help him “get more comfortable ”. That was before he left three hours ago and before San had downed most of the mini-bar while trying to occupy himself. His fingers wrap around the iron bars holding him back from the chilled caress of the ocean waves. Somewhere beneath him, lyrics to an unnamed song play softly. Slowly, he sways to their rhythm. 

_ “미련하게 잡고 있지마 날 그만 놓아줘.” Don’t foolishly hold on, just let me go. _

The heavy humidity of the approaching storm settles over his skin with a sticky mist. Fractals of lighting crackle in the distance, their light exposing the thick, dark clouds that threaten to suffocate the world beneath them. It’s the desperation of his lungs. The heavy sigh his mind lets go of every time he thinks about surrendering to the constant weight of his heart. 

_ “세상에 지친 날 누가 좀 제발 안아줘.” Someone please hold me, I’m exhausted from this world.  _

He feels himself lift one leg. It slides easily over the railing, slick with rain. Beneath him, the ground winks at his trembling frame. It calls to him, begging, as he thinks, just for a second, what it would be like to fall; what it would be like to finally just do it. He watches in slow motion as he steadily pulls himself over the balcony’s metal edge. The slippery surface threatens to send him spilling, but for once, he does not mind the fear. It’s the black vignette as the world softens around him. The numb static that sets over his mind. It is the silence until suddenly all peace is shattered by a distance voice. It calls out to him, high-pitched, and panicked. San pretends that he does not hear it. That the storm’s roaring winds are too loud. He takes a step forward just as the faint musical ballad sends a phrase spiraling into the air around them. 

_ “제발 날 도와줘.” Please help me. _

He does not feel himself hit the ground.

Everything is warm. Salt mingles with the hangover that splits his skull the moment he cracks open an eye. Blindly, he searches for his phone amidst his hundreds of plush before realizing that the bed he is in is not his own. Ignoring the pounding agony of his headache, he shoots into an upright position.  _ The hotel _ .

Next to him, the comforter is disheveled. The man from last night is nowhere to be found, but nearby the subtle sound of a running shower echoes. He groans quietly. Forcing himself into a sitting position, he takes the opportunity to study the small space. It’s painted an off-white with interior details in maroon. In the reflection of the large, flat-screen TV on the dresser in front of him, his pale body stares back. As the sheets shift, he immediately notices the bruises and bite marks littering the otherwise flawless flesh. 

San pulls an inward breath of air, the hiss echoing through the room, just as the shower turns off. He thinks about scrambling for his clothing. Throwing everything on without seeing the face of the man he allowed to touch his body so frivolously. Another one-night stand where he runs away in the morning. Yet, a glance at his phone tells him that it is hardly going to be morning for long. It is 10:26AM and, with a bitter thought, he knows that most hotel policies place check-out around 11AM. Carefully, he pushes the remainder of the blankets off of his lap. 

Thankfully, he has already pulled his jeans over his hips by the time the other man surfaces. The bathroom door opens slowly, revealing a man slightly shorter than him. His hair is light, something on the horizon beside lavender and white, but it is impossible to tell exactly what color thanks to the water dripping from the pale strands. His eyes dance over San’s figure as he uses one end of the towel slung around his neck to blot his hair. San feels incomprehensibly exposed compared to the other man’s ripped jeans and black v-neck. 

“I’m surprised you’re still here.” The man smiles. “Usually, people run out as fast as they wake up.” San finds himself laughing as he pulls the gray t-shirt he wore to the bar over his head. 

“Can’t say I woke up all that quickly though.” He holds out a hand, meaning for a handshake, but the man in front of him just stares. After a breath, he elects to just lower it. “Right, probably weird to do introductions now.”

The blonde coughs quietly. “I take it you don’t remember last night?” The question drifts between them quietly. He wants to say that of course he remembers. How could he not? But the memory is gone. Instead, he is left with a sexed-up body that is going to take a hell of a lot of concealer to hide for his shift tonight. San shakes his head. 

“I’m assuming that we fucked and-”

“We didn’t,” the man interrupts. “We didn’t have sex.” His face heats up significantly as he runs a cautious palm over the back of his neck.  _ Awkward _ . The blonde seems to have a similar reaction as he laughs under his breath. “Sorry. You wanted to, and so did I, but when I got back from getting...supplies...from the convenience store, you were in a bad place. I got you to calm down, but not before you kind of stripped and then passed out.”

San feels an icy chill run down his spine. It’s like his entire body has rejected the idea completely. “What do you mean ‘a bad place’?” He pushes against the barrier of his thoughts, attempting to crack it just enough to pull the memory of the night before through. It feels like someone has stitched it shut, but with enough itching, he might be able to dislodge the threads.

The other man leans against the wall as he glances to the clock beside them. It flickers with ‘10:34AM’ and they both know their time is running out. “San, I found you trying to jump off of the balcony.” He crosses his arms. “It was horrifying, to say the least, and I can’t help but feel a little guilty for leaving you alone that long.”

San pales considerably. His heart pounds in his chest; threatening to burst right out. It’s a wayward bird trapped in an empty packing district. “I’m sorry, I don’t-” The man in front of him gestures frantically. In just four strides, he has managed to cross the distance between them. His warm hands reach for San’s palms as he frowns at the raven-haired boy’s apology. 

“Please don’t apologize to me.” He pulls San into a tender embrace. The generic hotel shampoo scent wafts off of him in delicate waves. He holds San’s head to his shoulder as though the taller is made of glass and dish soap bubbles. “We’re basically strangers, and while I want to say I have never experienced whatever that was you were going through last night, it would just be a lie.” San does not have it in himself to tell this man that he does always feel that way. That the world does not always threaten to push him over the edge of a balcony during a storm. Instead, he holds his tongue and breathes in the clean scent that drifts around him. 

By the time the blonde finally lets go, San is not sure what to say. He just bows slightly and whispers a muffled, “Thank you.” Undeterred, however, the man smiles brightly. Suddenly, he is scribbling something on the hotel-brand notepad and pushing it into San’s unfurled palm. His touch is like the fleeting warmth of an early spring day. 

“Text me if you ever need to. I’m a dance instructor during the week, but I always have time for friends.”

San pauses. His gaze flits between the person before him and the small scrap of paper in his hand. “Does that mean we’re friends?” His voice comes out smaller and more tentative than he means for it to. Friends are his hard limit; the only people in the world he refuses to have romantic feelings for. He can lose lovers and strangers, but friends are a different breed. The blonde does not seem to be thrown off, however, and instead nods pointedly. 

“We can be.” He glances to the clock beside them once more. “Not to kick you out, but I think we should get a move on. Check-out is at eleven and really I didn’t expect you to still be here.” He gives San a sympathetic smile. San slips his beat up combat boots on with little resistance and grabs his blazer from where it must have landed on the back of the chair. 

It is as the man signs the check-out slip at the front desk that San realizes he does not know his name. The receptionist recognized his hair and just passed it to him without saying a word. Even as San tries to read the name printed on the card, it is in a messy signature that he cannot decipher. As the automatic doors glide open and the chilly morning air pours over them, he opens his mouth to ask. However, the man is already speaking. 

“Hey San, can I ask you a question?” The blonde gazes at him with wide, bright eyes. San stumbles over his words and only nods in response. “Do you believe in angels?” Guardian angels; the ones that people say can give you three warnings in your lifetime. You just make the choice to listen. 

There’s a glint to the man’s eye that he cannot pinpoint. It is full of liquid honesty and genuine curiosity. Like wandering too deeply into a forest clearing with nowhere to go but forward. San stares back like a deer in headlights before finally shaking his head. The man before him looks crestfallen as San adds, “I think I used to.”

Even as he is settling back into the leather cushions of the couch in his apartment, having left the man with a gentle, “I’ll see you later”, he cannot get the distraught expression out of his head. Once again, the thought hits him point-blank.  _ His name _ . San groans loudly, his fingers already fishing through his blazer pocket for the blonde’s number. When it is finally in his grasp, he pulls it out with a satisfied  _ ‘hmph’ _ .

In a slightly more legible script that the check-out slip, the man’s name and number is signed with a curling font. San realizes now that his handwriting wasn’t sloppy. It is beautiful,  _ angelic _ really. “Jung Wooyoung.”

The alleyway is sticky with humidity as San slowly makes his way to the back entrance of the bar. Not bothering to knock, he shoulders the red metal door open with a swift push. Inside, the DJ’s speakers squeal as he sets up for the night. Somewhere near the office, Mingi’s deep laugh echoes through the corridor. It’s only when he hangs up his light jacket that the redhead slides the small window between the office and the hallway open that he finds his heart rate skyrocketing. Hand over the left side of his chest, he turns slowly to meet the other man’s confused stare.

Mingi shoots him a wide smile; his dark eyes crinkling in that loving way. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” His deep laughter is bright in the small space. San chuckles and shakes his head. Silently willing that Mingi let him go about his night without finding out exactly what had happened earlier. It does not seem possible, though, as the taller man’s gaze traces his body. “Is that what you’re wearing tonight?”

Self-consciously, San tugs at the high-collared button up. It was not his usual choice, or anything close to it, and had been a leftover work shirt from his stint at one of the nearby cafes. Wooyoung had left just one too many marks on the sensitive flesh above his collarbone. For once, San did not want to talk about his almost hookup. He could not tell if the residual bitterness was from not getting laid or if it was because he wanted nothing more than to talk to Wooyoung again.  _ Just to get to know him _ . And that was not something he ever did. 

“Why? Is it weird?” San asks ambiguously. Mingi frowns and shakes his head; strands of red falling into his eyes wildly. Carefully, San crosses his arms over his chest. The thin black fabric over his biceps protests quietly under the sudden pull. “So, what’s the problem?”

Mingi pouts. “It’s just not really...you...you know?” The man disappears before rounding the corner and opening the office door. “I haven’t seen you dress like that since highschool. What made you wear it?”

San rolls his eyes. “I have definitely worn button ups in the last seven years, thank you.” Mingi grunts as his attention falls onto a box of lost items. San, already knowing what the man is thinking, stops him before he can riffle through them. “Mingi, I’m not changing. I had a rough night.” The redhead turns to him with wide eyes and his mouth in a slight ‘o’ shape. 

“So, you did go home with that guy!”

He cannot stop the way his hands come up to cover his face. “Jesus, yeah. I got a hotel room with someone, but nothing really happened.” Mingi’s expression falls into something quizzical. He cocks his head to the side as San repeats, “Seriously, nothing happened.”

“He was hot as hell. What do you mean nothing happened?” 

“It just didn’t.” San shoulders past the taller man on his way out of the office. “I guess we made out a bunch and were going to have sex, but…” His voice fades into the distance. “It just didn’t work out.” He doesn’t want to go into detail. Really, he is not sure that he can in the first place. Mingi claps him on the shoulder and nods assertively. 

“We’ll find you a different guy. Which means,” He tightens his grip and spins San towards the office once more. “There is an adorable mesh top in that box and blue crop. You’re putting that on.” San groans and tries to free himself from the taller’s grip, but cannot find the necessary strength. It’s only when San cements his feet to the tile that Mingi finally gives up. “Seriously, Sannie, what’s up?”

“I just don’t want to do anything tonight, Mingi.” He shrugs. “I’m tired and kind of insecure right at this moment, so just, can we drop it?” He tries to stop his voice from breaking, he really does. But the moment the first crack appears, he knows there is no going back. 

Mingi pulls him into a tight embrace. It smells like cinnamon and toffee. Briefly, San wonders if the other bartender was mixing with Fireball before this. “You got it, dude. Just know that I’m here if you need to talk okay.” San nods. Mingi is the best friend he could have asked for. Sometimes, he is overbearing, but really who isn’t? As the two make their way into the main area of the bar, San’s eyes land on the DJ as he jumps over the metal railing of the stage. 

“Sannie!” Hongjoong barrels towards them like a bat out of hell. “I was wondering when you would get here.” He gives San a toothy grin and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. His eyes linger over the raven haired man’s clothing and his lip quirks awkwardly. “Are you aiming for brooding vampire tonight or what?” Mingi laughs softly as San gives Hongjoong a look of pure disgust.

“What, you don’t like when people tread on your boyfriend’s territory, hyung?” San’s voice comes out laced with more venom than he meant to inject into the statement. Hongjoong’s eyes flicker between the other two men, as though he wants to start something, but does not trust himself to find a witty enough comeback. Instead, San rushes to amend the damage. “Sorry, Joong. Rough night.”

Hongjoong slings an arm over his shoulder. “It’s fine, but seriously, you know you can talk to us right? Hwa, too, if he’s around.” The man’s bright smile is all the reassurance he needs as he nods carefully. 

“Yeah, no. I know. You’ve been saying that for years.” 

“Well, you’re the one that has stuck around for years, brat.” Hongjoong flicks his forehead gently. “Mingi and I have had your back since the beginning. We’re not about to push you into the deep end without floaties yet.” He laughs and spins away from San before the other can issue retaliation. “Don’t try to hit your elders. It’s rude.” His voice carries through the otherwise empty space like the chorus of a forgotten song. San sighs as Hongjoong prattles off something about ‘not trusting enough’ and needing to ‘finally settle down with someone’. Even as the older man walks back to his DJ station, San feels claustrophobic. 

“Taste something for me?” Mingi calls across the bar. At some point, he must have wandered behind the counter to continue mixing drinks. As San approaches, he slides an amber-colored shot glass down the polished wood. The liquid sloshes gently over the side, making the raven-haired man cringe as he remembers that he’s on clean-up duty for the closing shift. “I’ve been trying to make tonight’s special, but I can’t get it right.”

San brings the shot to his lips, immediately getting hit with the strong cinnamon scent. He flinches and holds it at arm's length. “How many of these have you tried already?” Mingi pulls a grimace as Hongjoong cackles loudly. The answer does not hit the air before San feels the alcohol burn down his throat. “Fuck, is that rum?” He coughs.

“He made at least four.” Hongjoong grins wildly. “It’s supposed to be like Cinnamon Toast Crunch.” San slides the shot glass back down the bar and moves behind the counter to grab a can of Sprite from the mini-fridge. 

“Breakfast for alcoholics,” He murmurs as he pops the soda’s tab. “It’s disgusting. Just make the special something you know how to do, Mingi.” The redhead frowns in his direction and waves him off. 

“Seonghwa said that he wanted to use some of the Fireball we have back here.”

Of course that’s what Seonghwa wants to do. Because why not waste perfectly good alcohol on mixology? San rolls his eyes and points to the various lemon-lime sodas around the station. “Just do a Fireball limeade sort of deal.” Mingi’s eyes widen considerably as he processes the simplicity of the order. “For the love of god, don’t kill our customers tonight.” 

He sets to pulling the stool over to the back chalkboard and reworking the special section with a ‘Fireball Limeade’ advertisement. He even goes as far as to doodle a small cocktail topped with a lime. By the time the space is prepared for the night, San already can feel the electric buzz that passes through the air. It was like this every time they opened. To say that he truly did love his job would be an understatement. The people he surrounded himself with nearly every night, as well as, the customers, were the highlight of his life. It was not where he saw himself after pursuing a writing degree, but it was where he ended up. And for that, he was thankful. 

Mingi and Hongjoong had been with him every step of the way. Before highschool graduation, Hongjoong pushed them to apply for his college. The moment their acceptances rolled in and the oldest spun them into the world of independent adulthood, he realized that he was bound to the two dorks forever. Even when Hongjoong eventually found Seonghwa and Mingi picked up Yunho at San’s old job, they were stuck together as an eternal trio of chaos and bad decisions. 

Maybe that’s why when people start pouring into the bar, he does not feel alone. Operating at one end of the counter while Mingi mixes and takes orders at the other, he zones out to the electronic pounding of Hongjoong’s newest beat. It’s only when long pale fingers wiggle awkwardly in his face that he comes back to the present. Before him, a dark haired man waves from across the wooden divider. 

“You good, pal?” San feels himself draw in a quick breath through his teeth. He nods; offering the customer a sheepish smile and shrug combo before gesturing at the wide expanse of bottles behind him. The guy glances between his expression and the alcohol wearily. 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” San laughs. He smiles again, hoping to pull the man into a light conversation. Or at least to get his order on his tab before he leaves in irritation. “What can I get you?” The man grins motioning to San first. 

It’s a look that San knows all too well and one that makes his skin crawl. He knows the line before it slips from the man’s mouth; having heard it a hundred times. “You on the menu?” His voice is honey-laden and works to pull San’s attention in all the ways it can. It does not work. 

While the dark haired stranger is attractive, with sharp cheekbones and a prominent nose, he is far from San’s comfort zone. The aura surrounding him is dangerous; the kind that will sleep with him once and throw him from the room the moment his girlfriend so much as texts him. Or worse, the complete opposite. San thinks back to overhearing morning phone calls between couples that he most certainly should not have been in the bed for. He was a lot of things, but never did he want to be a homewrecker. 

San sighs, pushing the dark hair from his eyes, and flashes the man a soft smile. “Unfortunately, no.” He rolls his shoulder towards the drinks again. “What can I get you?” The customer narrows his gaze slightly, tsking at San’s rejection. He orders a rum and coke before leaning against the bar. San watches him survey the crowd, probably looking for his next move, and instead elects to wipe down the counter. It isn’t until a group of the man’s friends call him over that he finally leaves San’s comfort zone. 

Mingi, finally having found a break in the current, spins over to him with an obnoxious grin. “He was hot.” The other man presses his elbow into San’s ribcage. “Why did you say no?” He means well. Mingi  _ always  _ means well. But tonight, it is difficult to keep repeating himself. 

“I just didn’t want to. He wasn’t my type.”

Mingi rolls his eyes before taking another customer’s order. As he mixes the drink, he sticks his tongue out in San’s direction. He slides the glass down the bar before continuing their conversation. “He was one-hundred percent your type.” The card reader beeps softly as he adds the order to the man’s tab. “He was basically  _ everyone’s _ type. Looked like an idol and was probably hung like-” San squawks in response. 

“Not having this conversation!” A woman waves him down across the counter and for once he is thankful for the interruption. Her voice is squeaky and annoying the moment her drunken mouth opens. She must have pregamed before coming to this bar, because the way she slurs is impossible to have achieved in the amount of time since they opened. Against his better judgement, he prepares her Bloody Mary with a stern warning. “Take it slow, okay, miss?” She laughs loudly and downs most of the drink; making San cringe.  _ Incredible _ . He makes a mental note to keep an eye over her throughout the night. Something about her reminds him of his childhood. A girl with rolling blonde curls and a funeral that was far too early for them.

He wonders, quietly, if she would have been like this woman now; dancing the night away in a sweaty convulsion of alcohol induced euphoria. He thinks of the bridge, nothing but rope and loose planks, and the way it looked only days before the accident. Mingi seems to sense his change in mood as he wanders to him slowly. His warm palm a reassuring weight on San’s shoulder, he spins him until they make eye contact. 

“Sannie, what happened?” 

He fights the urge to break down here in front of so many people. He squeezes his eyes shut before responding, “Do you ever think about the bridge?” His voice is soft. It wavers softly, as though invisible in the gentle downpour of his emotions. Behind his eyelids, the image of a skeleton flower flashes abruptly.  _ Diphylleia grayi.  _

Mingi is quiet for a moment; as though remembering the incident. When San finally opens his eyes, the other man stares back at him. It’s a slow nod, but one that unravels San easily. “She didn’t listen.” Mingi pushes him in the direction of the back room. “Go take a second, San. Breathe, wash your face, whatever.” He does. He forces his feet to carry him; one tender step after another. A crawling wound that opens up beneath his feet. Even as the door to the back room slams shut and he makes his way to the private bathroom, his heart thunders painfully in his chest.  _ Why remember now? _

Cold water pours into the porcelain bowl as he splashes it onto his face. The icy temperature shocks his nerves into sudden silence. Just for a moment, it is quiet. Dulled. Foggily, his mother’s voice rings out in his ears. 

“Don’t use the old bridge that you kids always play on. It’s rotting.” And they listened. For a while, no one walked along the bridge. Instead, they used the slippery stepping stones to get across the stream. At some point, those were dangerous too. They listened until one day, they didn’t.

When the neighborhood kids wanted to play Cops and Robbers, San did not say no. Ji-yeon was the first to find him and wanted to make the bridge the prison. Maybe, it would have worked if she did not insist on ‘proving’ to San that it was still safe. Maybe, if he had believed her, it would have been him instead. He did not see the plank snap. He did not see her fall. He was too busy running in the other direction as a thundering voice echoed through his mind. 

“Don’t follow her. Leave.” It begged him. It pleaded until his feet carried him all the way home and he collapsed in a cold sweat in the house’s entry way. San cried that day. He sobbed until his voice was hoarse and his mother pushed his choppy bangs back from his face. Ji-yeon had died the moment she hit the water. The impact was too much for a frail child to handle. His mother said that the voice had been a guardian angel; sent just to protect him. Ji-yeon had one too, everyone did, but she did not listen to it. Even as his mother held him late at night, his swollen eyes too tired to produce more tears, she said, “Your angel is always watching over you, baby. You just have to believe what it tells you.” But Ji-yeon’s angel was not enough. It did not try to keep her safe. So, why should he listen to his own?

He turns the handle on the sink until the water stops. As he meets his eyes in the mirror, he frowns. Dark circles and pale skin stare back. His hair had been blonde just weeks ago, but in a fit of desperation, he grabbed a box of black box dye. Even the blue chunk at the front had faded to an awkward mint green. He looked beyond exhausted. 

“I said I don’t want to.” He hears the voices before he sees the bodies move into the space. “Fucking let go!” As he opens the door to the employee bathroom, ready to reem someone’s ass for sneaking into the backroom, a flash of light lavender flashes into his peripheral. Pinned against the wall is the shape of someone slightly shorter than him. He cannot see the person’s face past the dark-haired figure that has the other pressed in a very non-consensual way. The smaller figure squirms more as a palm smacks against his cheek. 

“Shut the fuck up.” San immediately recognizes the slurred voice of the earlier stranger from the counter. Before the man can push any further, San lunges forward until one hand wraps around the figure’s bicep. With a rug tug, he separates the two quickly and shoves the asshole against the backroom’s door.

“I’m going to give you two options. The first is that you walk the fuck out of here, you get your friends, you leave this club, and never come back. The second being that I beat your ass until you can’t walk and call the bouncer in here to finish you off.” The man wiggles slightly, trying to dislodge the forearm San has used to pin him against the wall. “You tell me what you want to do. Option one,” San pauses as the man nods frantically. Using his other hand, he opens the door and pushes the man into the main section of the bar. “Go before I call the cops.” It does not take long for the stranger to tear out of sight.

Slowly, San turns back to the victim. His body shakes like a leaf, but he is desperate to reassure the other. “Hey,” he whispers before even trying to meet the man’s gaze. “I’m San. I want you to know you’re okay now. Is there anyone-” When he does look up, a familiar face stares back. 

“I know.” His voice cracks awkwardly. One side of Wooyoung’s face is tinged with red swelling, most likely from the slap that San had the misfortunate experience of hearing. His neck is covered with old bruises that San realizes with a blush are from the previous night. However, new red marks line the pale flesh as well. That asshole must have found him on the dance floor before forcing him back here. 

San can’t stop the way he rushes forward to push a stray lavender strand from the other’s eyes. “Oh my god, Wooyoung.” He frowns as he tilts the man’s head slightly to the side to better survey the damage. “Ice. You need ice.” He skitters to the ice maker before scooping some into a nearby dishtowel. “Are you alright?”

He passes the chilly bundle to the blond who nods solemnly. “I am now.” Wooyoung holds the ice to his cheek tenderly. “I didn’t realize you had a shift tonight.”

“I didn’t realize that you kept tabs on when I work.” San smiles softly as he watches the other man. “Are you a regular here?” Wooyooung laughs quietly as San stumbles through his words. “Not like the backroom. I mean…” The other man’s warm gaze is enough to make his heart flutter. “You know what I mean. You’re just being a brat.” 

Wooyoung cackles this time. His free hand comes up to run through San’s mussed hair. “I come in a lot with some friends of mine. They’re not here tonight; otherwise that wouldn’t have happened.” He bites his bottom lip. San cringes internally at the raw, kissed bruising that has begun to blossom from the attack. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Wooyoung shakes his head. “I really just came because you didn’t text.” San breathes in sharply. Of course. He wanted to, truly, but he had never texted after a night with someone. Especially not one he did not remember. “I’m not mad. I was just...worried?”

“I’m sorry.” San sighs. Wooyoung's hand settles on San’s hip. The weight is comfortable; as though it belongs right there. “I thought I scared you off with the whole...whatever that was.” 

Wooyoung sighs. His hand moves from San’s hip to run through his own lavender hair. “That’s why I was so worried, dumbass.” San’s surprised gasp echoes through the empty room like a forgotten song. Wooyoung, however, just cocks his head. “You really thought I wouldn’t wonder where the hell you went after something like that?” 

“I don’t think anyone has ever called me a dumbass that quickly.”

“Then, don’t act like one.” The other man barks, slight irritation painting his features. Seconds later, the anger dissipates. “You are worth caring about. You probably don’t see it, but you should.” Wooyoung pushes away from the wall. “How much longer is your shift?”

San looks at the ancient clock hanging above the doorway. “Probably like three hours, why?” Wooyoung wrings his hands awkwardly. Suddenly, San is hit with realization.  _ He doesn’t want to be alone _ . “Seonghwa is coming in to take over Mingi’s shift, but I can talk to Mingi about leaving early and see if he’ll switch with me.” He holds out a hand as Wooyoung stares between the two. “Come on.” 

Sheepishly, Wooyoung stands to the side of the counter as San grabs Mingi’s attention. The redhead seems overwhelmed already, but San cannot let Wooyoung wander alone. Mingi glances at San with a look of understanding and jogs over quickly. Over his shoulder, he nods at a customer that tries to flag him down. 

“I’m guessing you’re the reason that guy came flying past like a bat out of hell?”

San laughs bitterly. “He left, right?” Mingi nods. “Listen, something happened between him and Wooyoung,” he casts a look towards the shaken blonde. “Can you cover tonight with Seonghwa? I’ll do whatever you want for like a straight week.”

Mingi smiles before shooting out a, “You mean a gay week.” Nonetheless, the taller man nods. “For sure, dude. Don’t worry about it though. I need the extra funds for a special you know what.” He holds up his hand and wiggles his long digits, pointing at his left ring finger. 

“Shit, you’re thinking about proposing?” The voice of reason in the back of San’s mind screeches loudly. Now, both Yunho and Mingi were going to buy rings and he had no way of stopping them without spoiling the surprise. Mingi nods, but pushes San back to Wooyoung’s side.

“Go. Seonghwa will understand.” 

San bows his thanks as he intertwines Wooyoung's fingers with his. He does not even process the protective arm that the other man snakes around his waist as they make their way to the office to grab San’s jacket. Even as the chilled night air hits the two of them, the warmth does not leave. 

“I probably told you last night,” San says as they walk through the alleyway. “But my apartment is only a block over. You’re welcome to stay.” Wooyoung nods gently. San watches as the smaller man shivers slightly. In just a silk button-up blouse and ripped jeans, the blonde must be freezing. San wraps his jacket around Wooyoung’s shoulders and glitters under the man’s delicate, but appreciative gaze. 

“You mentioned it, yeah.” Wooyoung’s voice does not waver as they spill onto the busy street. “I wasn’t sure if you were a good guy though, so I was the one that suggested the hotel.” He offers a sheepish smile to the other man. “Obviously, I could have trusted you.”

San frowns at the suggestion. “You hardly know me, Wooyoung.” As he speaks, he almost wants to shove the words back down his throat. “I mean, we just met last night.”

Wooyoung hums, his grip tightening on San’s fingers. He had forgotten that they were even holding hands. “I told you, I come in a lot.” San’s frown deepens. Surely, he would have noticed the blonde around if he was a regular. Something dares him not to push further though. Not until Wooyoung continues carefully. “I don’t usually order my drinks. Yeosang or Jongho know what I like better than I do.” The names are familiar and two faces come to the front of San’s mind.

“Buff, dark-haired dude who looks like he could split open a watermelon with his pinky?” Wooyoung laughs loudly. It bounces from building to building, but no one turns to pay them any mind. It’s a sound San could get used to. 

“Jongho, yeah.” 

“Then, Yeosang is that petite blonde guy with the angel face and perfect eyebrows?” He could probably lay off the compliments a bit. Something in him, though, thinks that Wooyoung won’t misinterpret it. The other man nods, a wide smile laying over his features like a damp cloth.

“He’s pretty, right?” San shrugs. He cannot deny that the blonde, Yeosang, is attractive. But he’s far from San’s type. Especially with Wooyoung’s thumb rubbing tender circles on the curve of his wrist. The heat that radiates from his touch scalds him in an unexpectant way. “Everyone always thought he should go into modeling when we were kids.”

San hums. “You’re childhood friends then?” Wooyoung nods softly. “The other bartender, Mingi, is mine. So is Hongjoong, the DJ.” Maybe it’s the slight purr that comes with his words, but Wooyoung looks to him with wide eyes.

“Isn’t it weird?” He speaks loudly now; more certain of himself. “The city is massive, but we stick to the groups we’ve known forever.” His fingers drum on the back of San’s hand. “I wanted to travel when I was a kid. You know, find my people and learn everything I could about places outside of the world I grew up in. I couldn’t just leave though.” His expression falls slightly, as though remembering something he wished would stay hidden. “Something always pulled me back.”

The words filter through the air delicately. For a second, it’s as though the Earth freezes entirely; like San could reach out and pluck them from the atmosphere to inspect them up close. And then, it’s like coming home from a long day. The gentle heat of the apartment caressing its fragile tendrils across his skin. It’s the only statement that San has ever  _ felt  _ in such an enveloping way. Enough so, that his face must falter. 

“Sorry, that was probably really weird-“

“No,” San interrupts. It's a delicate phrase as it dances from his lips. “I understand completely.” Wooyoung’s eyes sparkle in the vivid neon glow of a nearby convenience store ‘open’ sign. “I moved here with Hongjoong and Mingi for college to get out of our hometown, but it was as far as I got.” 

As they walk down the sidewalk, San feels the silence weigh over them like a silken blanket. It’s not overbearing; just heavy enough to tether them to the world. Wooyoung’s voice comes out almost a murmur as he whispers, “Seoul has that kind of quality.” It’s not something the San feels he has to respond to. He agrees, fully, but in the grand scheme of things, it is best left unspoken. Even as they walk into his apartment building and scale the four sets of stairs, they remain silent. Wooyoung’s fingers continue their steady beat on his skin. Each touch drumming up the subtle buzz of contact. It is not unpleasant. 

San’s grip on the other man only falters as he reaches deep within his own pockets to search for his keys. As the metal slides into the lock, a cold chill runs down his spine. Pushing open the door, the sudden realization courses through his veins. “You’re not expecting me to do anything tonight, right?” The question lingers in the air for moments. He almost wonders if Wooyoung is actually angry at the suggestion as the blonde gapes back at him. 

Finally, the other man laughs loudly. His thin form doubling over; hands on his knees. “God, no, San.” For a moment, the dark-haired boy does not know how to feel. He didn’t expect such a strong reaction, that much was certain. When they finally meet each other’s eyes, Wooyoung’s expression falls slightly. San can practically see the other man recall the night before; his fragile state. Wooyoung’s hand settles warmly on his shoulder. “I don’t mean it like, well, that. Tonight has just been a lot. You weren’t expecting anything, were you?” 

He sounds devastatingly worried and it takes everything in the bartender’s being to not pull the other into a tight embrace. San shakes his head frantically. “No, of course not. I wasn’t really thinking about the implications. I just…” He pauses, his teeth catching on the supple skin of his bottom lip. “I wanted to make sure you were somewhere safe and the first thing that came to mind was with me. Sorry.” Wooyoung smiles reassuringly and does a small twirl in the doorway. 

“Does it look like I’m upset?” It takes approximately three steps before the blonde is standing in the middle of his tiny living room. For once, San is thankful that he remembered to clean up after himself. Maybe it was the last few years of having Seonghwa as his boss, but he had learned to at least not leave food wrappers on the coffee table. Wooyoung casts a glance over his shoulder. “Your place is cute.”

San hums as he helps the other wiggle out of his jacket. Carefully, he hangs it inside the entryway closet; its fabric still warm. “It’s home,” He watches as a ball of fur unfurls on the couch cushions. “Byeol especially likes it.” He wanders to the cat’s side. Carding his fingers through the soft fur, he gauges Wooyoung’s reaction. Was it stereotypical bisexual behavior to have a cat named after something celestial? Probably. But he was never one to care about cliches. 

Wooyoung frowns slightly and murmurs, “Huh. I’m more of a dog person,” before the corners of his eyes pull upward with a grin. He approaches the couch slowly. His fingers stretched before him, he lets Byeol sniff him before nuzzling the corner of her mouth along the pads. “Is that a good thing? Does she like me?” He leans closer to San and wiggles his eyebrows. “Or is she just tasting me?”

San laughs and rolls his eyes dramatically. “She thinks you stink and that you should smell more like her.” Wooyoung gasps with a positively precious affronted expression. “She’s pretty laid back, so don’t worry about it.” The other man’s face softens as he finally scratches the velvety fur behind the cat’s ears. 

“Do you think she’ll mind sharing her couch with me tonight?”

“Who said anything about you sleeping on the couch?” The stare Wooyoung casts back at him is bewildered. As he opens his mouth to respond, San waves him off. “I don’t let guests sleep on the couch. You take my bed and I’ll sleep out here.” 

“I can’t do that, San!” Wooyoung frowns. His voice cracks slightly under the pressure of San’s request. For a moment, the bartender finds himself wondering how often he lets himself be pushed to second best. 

San lays a hand on his shoulder. “You can and you will. You’ve had a rough night, Wooyoung. Let me at least lend you my bed, some clothes, and a shower. Hell, I’ll even make you breakfast before your shift tomorrow.” Wooyoung’s mouth snaps shut with a click. _ That sounded like it hurt _ . Suddenly, the tears that begin to bubble over catch him off guard. “Woo-”

“I’m fine.” He scrubs at his face as though trying to shove them back into his tear ducts. “You remembered that I work during the week” San chuckles quietly and presses the pad of his thumb beneath Wooyoung’s eye. Gently, he brushes away the warm droplets one by one. “God, what did I do to meet someone like you?” 

“Apparently, kept an eye on me at the bar.” San can’t help the way the natural taunt echoes in the air. Wooyoung’s laughter is syrupy as he pushes the other man away softly. “Honestly, Wooyoung, we hardly know each other. Somehow, though, I think you’ve learned more about me than the majority of my circle.”

“I don’t even know your surname.”

San smiles at that. “Choi.” His voice mirrors the subtle relief that lingers in his mind. “My name is Choi San.”

By the time he convinces Wooyoung to take his bed, he feels like the world has bestowed the most delicate gift upon his shoulders. Even as Byeol curls up on his chest as he scrolls through his Instagram feed, the reverberating memory of Wooyoung’s laughter rings in his ears. Despite the scratchy material of the corduroy couch cushions, sleep finds him easily. But with it comes the recall of a question– one more difficult than love at first sight or soulmates– to which he could not decide the answer. 

_ “Do you believe in angels?” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, loves! I'm back with this little fic. This is a lot heavier than my last one, and tied to reality, therefore do not force yourself through it if you find it triggering! I want nothing more than for you all to stay safe. On a similar note, my DMs are always open on Twitter and Insta if you ever need to reach out and talk. 
> 
> All of my social media is @KyojinOuji  
> I love new friends and always follow back.
> 
> See you all in a few days for the next update!  
> Cheers!  
> \- Baz


	2. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of violence, depression, and suicide (this is an ongoing theme, but I'm still tagging it every time).  
> Also a very brief section involving unwanted physical contact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am booboo the fool and went off my outline so now I'm going rogue.

> _ “Where have you been? _
> 
> _ Do you know if you're coming back? _
> 
> _ We were too close to the stars. _
> 
> _ I never knew somebody like you, somebody; _
> 
> _ Falling just as hard. _
> 
> _ I'd rather lose somebody than use somebody. _
> 
> _ Maybe it's a blessing in disguise. (I sold my soul for you). _
> 
> _ I see my reflection in your eyes. (Tell me you see it too).”  _
> 
> **_Reflections_ ** _ \- The Neighborhood _
> 
> * * *

It’s the delicate scent of coffee brewing in the pot and the soft beat of the earbuds discarded on the couch that still blast music. It’s the way the sun brushes the rug in front of the balcony door and Byeol’s small figure sprawled in the warm rays. Maybe, it is even the cautious padding of bare feet on the wood floor as San looks up from his laptop. All of it makes his heart flutter like a hummingbird’s wings as he meets the sleepy eyes of a particular blonde. 

Wooyoung yawns into his palm as the back of his fist rubs against his swollen eyes. San had given him a long t-shirt his mom had gifted him for Christmas. His usual nighttime attire was much more scarce and the fabric had been stuffed into the back corner of his drawer for months. Looking at Wooyoung in the material, along with only his boxers, San cannot stop himself from catching his breath. His hair sticks up at every angle, obviously not brushed, and it takes everything he has to keep his fingers from running through the pale strands. 

“Mornin’,” Wooyoung murmurs as he collapses onto the cushion next to the other boy. “Tired. You know, you have a lot of plushies on your bed. It’s cozy.” San laughs lightly, his hands already in motion to close and put away the laptop he was scrolling through. Before he can, however, Wooyoung catches a glance at the screen. “What song is that?” 

San furrows his brow as he plucks the earbuds from where they had fallen. “One of Hongjoong’s new faves. He sent me his inspiration playlist with some of his new tracks for the club.” He holds a headphone out for the blonde. “Wanna listen?” Wooyoung hums quietly and pushes the plastic into his ear. 

“ _ See I would give my soul away not to feel this. _ ” The words hit close to home. The proximity between him and Wooyoung seems to shrink as the other man curls up on the couch next to him. “ _ I struggle with it everyday; it’s an illness.”  _ The other man does not speak. Instead, his leg bounces quickly to the cautious rhythm. “ _ I just sit and lie awake on some real shit. Looking for a great escape, might jump off a-”  _ The artist’s voice fades from his mind as he focuses on Wooyoung’s breathing. Slow and steady; he finds himself matching the rate.  _ “I’m stuck in my brain again.” _

As the song filters into the next one on the playlist, the blonde pulls the earbuds away from both of them. “That’s pretty heavy for so early. It’s barely even ten yet.” San nods mutely. “Is your friend okay?” His voice comes out timid. 

San pauses for a moment. It wasn’t that Hongjoong did not talk about his feelings, but almost always, the man had a leaderly persona. It was rare that he did vocalize anything. Over the years, he had just grown used to the way his friend used music to speak. Once, as they sat on the roof of Mingi’s apartment, he told them that he was never sure how to put into words what he could with harmonies. 

San frowns slightly. “I’m really not sure.” Scrubbing a hand across his face, he feels the other man’s weight lift from his chest. As he glances down, dark eyes peer back. “I’m a horrible friend.”

“You’re not.” Wooyoung’s palm cups his cheek carefully. “You’re not even close to a horrible friend. You have your own demons blinding you.” The heat that pushes into his skin is pleasant. He finds himself leaning into the touch, seeking the comfort that Wooyoung so readily offers. “Sometimes, things escape our notice. Trust me when I say that you still have time to check in on him.”

“Thank you.”

Wooyoung smiles brilliantly before pulling his hand away. “Always.” The man stretches dramatically and rolls from his place against San. As he stands, he casts a sheepish look in the brunette’s direction. “Is the offer of breakfast still on?”A laugh bubbles from deep beneath the worry that brews in San’s chest. Nodding, he sets the laptop onto the nearby coffee table. 

“How do you like your eggs?” The giggling blonde spins towards the kitchen, but not before San calls, “Put pants on, Wooyoung!” The other man only chuckles louder as he disappears into the bedroom. 

After they eat and San spends nearly fifteen minutes trying to coax Wooyoung to feed Byeol while he showers, the brunette stumbles upon the other tossing on his clothing from last night. Something in his stomach flips awkwardly as he leans against the bedroom door. Wooyoung glances over his shoulder as his nimble fingers set to work on the button-up. “How was your shower?” Suddenly, the towel settled around San’s neck is impossible to ignore; damp and heavy. 

“Fine. You’re welcome to take one if you want to.” Wooyoung turns to face him as he finishes speaking, the top four buttons of his shirt still undone. The blonde shakes his head. He glances towards the analog clock that hangs beside San’s decorative bookshelf and shrugs. 

“Duty calls. I need to go back to my apartment and get changed, honestly.” He motions at his outfit. “My students probably won’t appreciate me showing up to class smelling like sweat and alcohol.”  _ His job _ . Somehow, it had slipped San’s mind that people actually work during the day. “Plus, I really can’t move in these jeans.”

San smirks at the comment. “What; too many rips for a ballerina?” The blonde rolls his eyes dramatically and pretends to flip his hair. Doing so showcases the honey-colored skin of his chest with a stunning flourish. 

“Not enough, actually. Wait til’ you see the ones that barely have any fabric.” The lines slips out with such smooth delivery that San wonders if he has used it before. It is only when his dark eyes go impressively wide that the other man backpedals with fervour. “I mean...Actually, no. I meant what I said.” His cheeky grin is blinding as he wanders past San into the hallway. 

Wooyoung is a walking creation of beauty and sunshine. It is as though all of the light in the apartment flocks to outline him with a glimmering aura. If angels existed, he would easily be the most glorious one to set foot on Earth. Even as he slips his boots back onto his socked feet, San can’t help but admire the pull of his biceps beneath the blouse’s cuffed sleeves. 

“You’ll text me when you get back to your apartment, right?” San wants nothing more than to keep the man by his side all day. However, the world must continue to spin. “Not like you need to, really, but I just want to make sure that you get home safe.”

Wooyoung nods as he pulls his phone from his pocket. “I will if you give me your number.” Suddenly, San realizes that he never did give the other man his phone number. Wooyoung had been the only one smart enough to do that. As San scrambles over to the phone and begins to enter his contact info, Wooyoung kneels to pet the now curious Byeol. “I could probably learn to be a cat person.” HIs chuckle fills the air like one of Hongjoong’s old ballads. 

She has that effect on people,” San comments; his gaze not leaving the gentle expression on the boy’s face. “Seriously though, you don’t have to text me I just-”

“I’ll text you, San.” Wooyoung’s interruption is unwavering. It’s only when he is pulling the front door open and stepping into the exterior hall that he meets San’s gaze again. “Also, San?” His head cocks to the side. “Thank you for being a good friend. Not just for Hongjoong, but me too.” The wooden door closes, giving the brunette only a few seconds to process Wooyoung’s words. 

_ Friends _ . Friends that almost slept together, made out, and have a habit of blatantly flirting, but friends nonetheless. His heart drops into his stomach as the realization comes to him all at once. Maybe some rules– particularly ones about who he would and wouldn’t date– are meant to be broken.

“So, you let him stay the night and then made him breakfast?” Hongjoong’s tone is light as he carefully stirs the cup of London Fog he is nursing. San watches the way Seonghwa, Hongjoong’s long-time partner and cuddly guard-dog, brushes his pinky against the daintier man’s painted one. “Sounds pretty domestic to me, Sannie.”

“It wasn’t like that,” San sighs. He runs a hand through the loose strands of hair that fall over his forehead. “Seriously, he just needed someone to be there for him last night. Speaking of,” He pours a pink packet of sugar into the coffee that sits in front of him. Seonghwa nods in approval at the addition as Hongjoong frowns. Drink purist. “There’s a guy we need to add to the club’s blacklist.” The dark-haired stranger’s face glowers back in his mental image.

Hongjoong nods, taking a long sip of his drink. “Mingi told me. What a fucking asshole.” Seonghwa sighs at his boyfriend’s unfiltered, but still very public, choice of words. “Apparently, his name is Kai. Hwa already sent out an e-mail to all of the bouncers on rotation with a picture of him from the security footage.”

“Your friend was alright though, right?” Seonghwa’s voice is deep. Concern blooms across his features like the sudden onset of a cherry-blossom spring. No matter how intimidating the older man looks, beneath it all he is just a wad of sickly sweet chewing gum. San smiles appreciatively. 

“I’m pretty sure, yeah. He didn’t really want to talk about it, but he knows that I’ll listen if need be.”

“Domestic~” The word sing songs off of Hongjoong’s tongue playfully. Seonghwa lightly cuffs him on the back of the head with a scoff. The smaller man’s red hair immediately fluffs into disarray. With a huff, he sets to work on smoothing it back down as Seonghwa clears his throat. The man stands and straightens his leather jacket. Offering a soft bow, he excuses himself to the restroom leaving just San and Hongjoong at the table. 

Wooyoung’s voice rings in his mind quietly.  _ Sometimes, things escape our notice _ . It’s with a soft tap on the table that he draws Hongjoong’s attention. His friend’s head cocks far to the side, a bewildered expression flitting across his features. “Yeah?”

“I listened to the new stuff you sent me.” Hongjoong’s face lights up instantly. With a toothy grin, he throws both of his elbows onto the table and rests his chin in his hands. “You need to play those immediately. They’re incredible, hyung.” Hongjoong smiles and tries to reply, but not before San holds up a subtle ‘hang on’ gesture. “I also listened to your inspo playlist, like usual, just so I could know where you were coming from.” He pauses; afraid to tread too close to the edge. “Are you alright, Joong?” 

It happens in slow motion. The way Hongjoong’s thrilled expression falls instantly. The downward pull of his lips that hides his bright, white teeth. The inward pull of his frame until he is almost curling into a ball at their small, cafe table. San wants to take it back. He wants to shove the words into his mouth and have them both forget he said anything. Silence weighs heavy on his shoulders.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought-”

Hongjoong sighs. It cuts San off promptly as he looks back at the man’s fragile position. “I’m not sure, San.” He unfurls from the tight shape. “Life has a way of getting us down when we least expect it, you know?” He runs a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Hwa is always there. Always waiting for the moment I slip up at home and he has to pull me back out of whatever hole I dug.” Hongjoong’s voice is so quiet that it is almost a murmur, but San hangs on to every word. “I heard one.”

San stares back at the man. Hongjoong rolls his eyes and motions wildly at the sky. “An angel, San. One of the guardians.”  _ Oh, for fuck’s sake _ . “I was at the studio after hours a few weeks ago. I didn’t realize that I was the last one there until I was walking out.” Suddenly, the palms of San’s hands are sweaty. The chill that runs down his spine is obvious. “Something told me to call a cab instead of wait for the bus. I ignored it and started towards the stop, but all I could hear was this horrible static. And then, there was yelling without sound.” His eyes are wide. Honest. And San finds himself being drawn towards the edge of his seat. “It was like the world froze. Instead of a voice, there was just image after image of ideas. Thoughts that I wasn’t part of.”

As Hongjoong winds down, San watches the way he shivers. His fingers wrap around the mug in front of him as he stares into the vague distance. “That mugging incident that happened nearby the studio was that night. It was that exact bus stop, San. What I saw makes me think that I wouldn’t have walked out of there the same way the victim did.” 

San cannot make himself speak. Instead, he can only slide an empty hand across the table and wait for the other man to grab on. When he does, he squeezes with every ounce of his might that he can muster. Hongjoong smiles softly as he glances over San’s shoulder. Without turning around, he can only assume Seonghwa is approaching them again. Before letting San go, Hongjoong whispers, “You know, the weirdest thing is that the whole experience reminded me of Hwa.” He laughs lightly and settles back into his chair with a thump. “Like he was there, right beside me, and was the one telling me to turn around.”

As Seonghwa rounds the table, he presses a tender kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead. “I certainly hope no one was telling you to turn around. Only I can do that.” The red head flicks him gently with an exasperated squawk. “I like to appreciate the view, Joongie.”

San smiles into his mug as he takes a long sip of the liquid caffeine. “You two are disgusting.” Hongjoong sticks out his tongue as he leans back in the chair. “Anyways, where’s Mingi?” He casts a sidelong glance to the counter where Mingi’s boyfriend, Yunho, laughs sweetly at something a customer said while ordering. The man’s brown hair flops into his eyes as he types the information into the system. San fondly remembers the days working alongside the tall brunette and watching one of his best friends fall head over heels for the puppy. 

Before either of the others can answer, a tall figure stumbles through the front door of the coffee shop. Mingi’s red mop of hair bounces as he waves over to the group. Speak of the Devil and he shall appear. The man bounds up to the counter and motions wildly between the menu and Yunho. His boyfriend chuckles warmly behind his hand and presses the order, most certainly some ’secret menu’ treat he saw on Instagram, into the computer. Mingi winks at the brunette before meandering over to the table they all gather around.

“Oversleep?”

Mingi rolls his eyes at Hongjoong’s question. “It’s 3 o’clock in the afternoon, hyung.” He places his phone on the smooth, wooden surface. It skitters slightly, but misses causing any damage. “My mom called and was asking all kinds of questions. She’s mad because I still haven’t brought her tupperware home.”

San smirks at the mention of Mingi’s mother. On the outside, she had the air of someone who would kick your ass in a moment’s notice for hurting her son. But on the inside, she was a ball of loveable energy; just like Mingi. “We could always head back and visit for a weekend.” The statement slips out before he truly considers it. 

As adults, they never had the time to go back together. Especially when all three worked at the same bar. It’s a breath before he realizes his other faux paus. Mingi and Hongjoong both have significant others now; people they would much rather spend the downtime with than him. Why would they go on a school-boy trip with him when they could have a romantic getaway with their boyfriends?  _ Shit _ . His thoughts nag at him as the silence buffers around the table. In the distance, Yunho calls out Mingi’s name. 

Before he leaps from the chair, though, the tall man’s hand settles on his shoulder. “We should!” He beams at San as he bolts over to the counter to retrieve his drink. San pretends not to hear the youthful giggle that Yunho lets out when Mingi lands a wet kiss to his cheek. Across the table, Hongjoong nods thoughtfully. 

“We really should head there for a bit. My parents have been grinding me for details about studio life.” Seonghwa’s arm lays heavy over his boyfriend’s shoulders. “It could be good just to go home for a weekend and see everyone. Your grandpa probably is due for a visit too.” Hongjoong gives him a brilliant, toothy smile. “Would that be okay, Hwa?”

Seonghwa nods softly. “Of course. I could close the club for a weekend and schedule a few repair jobs.” He purses his lips and pinches the bridge of his nose. “The roof has been threatening to leak for months, but I could never find a free moment to call maintenance.” As he finishes speaking, Mingi is dragging a loud Yunho by the wrist to the table. 

“Mingi, I don’t have a break yet-”

“You own the cafe, Yunho.” San laughs. “I’m pretty certain they can let their boss take a few seconds to visit his best friends.”

Yunho lets out a playful huff, but the puppy-ish expression that ghosts across his features is tell-tale enough that San hit the nail on the head. Mingi turns to him with bright eyes. “So, are we going home for a weekend?” Hongjoong claps loudly.

“We’re going home for a weekend!”

San runs through the invisible schedule in his mind. It is usually quite open, but something tugs at the back of his mind. The odd internal thought that sticks out like a thorn pricking the soft flesh of his index finger on a date gone wrong.  _ What if Wooyoung needs me?  _ Just as quickly, he pushes the intrusion away. Wooyoung, who had blatantly forgotten to text him when he got home, could survive on his own for a weekend. 

“Yeah.” San forces himself to smile. It’s like cracking ice with a bending pick. “We’re going home.” His hands tightly folded in his lap, it takes everything to not curl his fingers until his nails bite into the flesh.  _ Home _ .

* * *

Maybe, he should have stopped to pack more than just the essentials. As he pulls his suitcase from the trunk of Seonghwa’s Mustang, San frowns. The others are weighed down by multiple bags, souvenirs for family, and their brilliant, toothy grins. He, however, has a suitcase and his wallet. San did not miss the way Hongjoong’s gaze flickered over the light load before issuing him a ‘strict father’ grade frown. He did not say anything to the younger man, but San knew the silence was heavier than a speech. 

“You want us to come with you?” Mingi’s voice is gentle as he cocks his head with the question. Seonghwa had parked in the carport outside of Hongjoong’s family home, but San lived at the end of the street. Mingi was exactly three houses between both of them and made sure to complain about it every day they were in school. 

_ “I never know where to wait,” He would say, his arms crossed over his chest like armor. “Hongjoong is always late so it’s boring to stand outside his house. If I stay near yours, San, then I have to retrace my steps.” The other two boys would laugh his dilemma off and continue whatever video game they had been threatening each other with. _

San snaps his focus back to the present and shakes his head. “No, it’s okay.” He shoots the other men a grin before slapping his thigh loudly. Yunho flinches at the sound. “I’m a healthy young man!” He tries to mimic his grandfather’s voice the last time Seonghwa dropped him off just outside the fence. “Honestly, we’re all good. I have to call my neighbor and make sure she got into the apartment to feed Byeol anyways.” 

Hongjoong hums quietly. “I don’t know why you didn’t ask Wooyoung to take care of the cat.” He drums his delicate fingers on the slim curve of his hip. “You said he loves Byeol.” San feels his own lips turn down slightly. It’s just for a millisecond, hardly enough for him to even notice, but the red-head hones in on it immediately. “Where’s Wooyoung, San?”

He hesitates. It’s not like he knows for sure, but over the last two weeks, he has hardly spoken to the dancer. The last real conversation they had was something in the vein of, ‘ _ Do you mind if we see other people until we figure out what this is _ ?’ It had been Wooyoung’s way of saying, ‘ _ You are going through a lot right now _ ,’ without directly saying it to San’s face. It did not hurt any less. And maybe it was for the better. They were friends. 

“He’s probably with Yeonjun.” San’s voice is low as he clicks the suitcase’s handle into a rollable position. “He’s always with Yeonjun.” No one else responds as he flashes his dimples their way. “I’m fine, you guys. Just tired after that car ride.”

Yunho laughs quietly, his arm winding around Mingi’s waist. “Yeah, no one warned me that Seonghwa has road rage.” The eldest turns with an offended scoff. His dark eyes are warm even if his stance says that he wants nothing more than to smack Yunho.

“I,” he starts, his usually deep voice squeaky with irritation, “do not have road rage. I have the reasonable amount of rage for someone driving a metal death trap while my four closest friends rely on me to not kill them.” Even with his looks, the man’s pout is deadly precious.

San chuckles as he begins to drag the suitcase along the asphalt. “Hyung, you threatened to hit a biker.” Afraid of getting slapped, he walks faster. Before he is too far out of earshot, Seonghwa calls out to him loudly.

“He was on the road!” He hears the unmistakable sound of Hongjoong cuffing his boyfriend on the back of the head. Instantly, the bickering begins. What a weekend Hongjoong’s parents are going to have putting up with those two. The thought makes him smirk as he continues in the direction of his grandparents cozy house. 

The brick pathway leading up to the porch is a gentle slope. Every step closer makes his heart flutter warmly in his chest; especially as soft barking echoes from just beyond the doorway. Before his boots can touch the first step, creaking emanates through the air and a tan ball of fur slams into his shins. His grandparents’ shiba inu, Caesar, buries his nose in the fabric of his pant leg. Carefully, he stretches a palm towards the dog until the beast nuzzles him in excitement and circles his form repetitively. Laughter echoes from out of sight, but as San lifts his head, his grandmother barrels towards him with her arms outstretched. 

“You took too long, my sunny love.” Her small body curls around his in a familiar way. She smells like cinnamon and apples. Like the evenings he sprawled himself across the putrid green rug of the living room to take aesthetic pictures of marbles in the flickering firelight until she brought him apple tarts and ice cream. Home. He is finally home.

It takes her pulling back abruptly, face flushed with love, that truly throws open the floodgates. Hot tears roll down his cheeks before he can process what is happening. His grandmother laughs sweetly and pokes his nose. Her small figure turns on its heel and travels back to the open door of the house. Dumbly, he meanders after her; Caesar nipping at his heels every step of the way. 

He leaves his suitcase at the foot of his stairs. The drill is something that he knows quite well. Before he is allowed to retreat to his childhood bedroom, he has to sit at the counter and polish off the plate of apple slices his grandmother painstakingly peeled for him; each one carved into small, rabbit-eared bites. As he pops one into his mouth, he asks, “Where’s Gramps?” 

She rolls her eyes dramatically and bats at his hand as he reaches out for another slice. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.” 

“Sorry,” He mumbles around the fruit. No matter how many times she scolds him for it, they both know that is a habit he’ll never break. It would be hilarious if it wasn’t for the fact that he was a grown man. She pushes a glass of water in his direction and leans against the counter.

“He went down to the convenience store to pick up painkillers.” The admission catches him off guard. He pauses mid-chew to raise an eyebrow in her direction. Noticing the surprise blanketing her face, she waves him off. “It’s nothing major. His back has been giving him trouble recently.”

“Has he seen the doctor about it?”

She laughs. “Do you really believe he would go to the doctor?” San frowns as the words leave her mouth. If his grandfather wasn’t dying, then of course the man would stubbornly refuse to seek treatment. She offers him a reassuring smile and pats his wrist lightly. “He’s fine, dear. If it truly bothers him enough, I’ll send him to see the Kims. Until then, he’s just banned from working in the garden.”

San’s lips lift upward at the image. His grandfather would do what it takes to get back to his cabbages and tomatoes as soon as possible. It was a great threat on his grandmother’s part. He shoves another apple slice into his mouth and watches the elderly woman turn towards a boiling pot on the stove. Whatever she was making for dinner smelled heavenly. “What’s–”

“Kimchi-jjigae.” She does not turn away from the pot as he chuckles. “We had leftovers and I figured you would like something homecooked.” A smile flashes over his face as he hums happily in response. While it was not his favorite dish, he would gladly eat any jjigae his grandparents were willing to prepare. She glances over her shoulder briefly to eye the now empty plate before him. “Do you want me to cut up some more?”

San shakes his head and pushes himself from the stool. “It’s alright. Thank you.” He gives her a small bow just as the front door creaks open. The wrinkling of plastic bags echoes through the entryway before he hears a deep giggle. Suddenly, his grandfather stands in the doorway, his eyes bright and his arms open. San flings himself at the man with a leap. 

“Do you enjoy making us worry about you?” His grandfather speaks into his neck, the embrace tight enough to suffocate the younger boy. “Seoul is full of crime. I heard about that accident a few weeks ago–”

“Grandpa,” San laughs. “I’m fine, thank you for asking. Seoul isn’t dangerous.” His grandfather huffs and lets him go. “Some people are, but it’s not Seoul’s fault.”

“You could have gone to college anywhere. Your grades were great. You had enough extracurriculars to tackle an army and yet–” San smiles as the elderly man rambles about his missed opportunities in a smaller town. In some ways, he is completely correct. However, San would not give up his experiences for the world. “I’m glad you’re back, Sannie.”

San nods fervently. Squeezing his grandfather’s shoulder tightly, he moves past him to the stairwell. Carefully, he hoists the suitcase by the fabric handle; knowing that it would earn him a lengthy lecture if he even thought about wheeling it along the wooden stairs. “I’m going to run this upstairs and possibly grab a quick nap,” He calls before poking his head back into the kitchen. “Wake me for dinner?” 

His grandparents both nod and wave him off, but not before his grandmother shoots him a bizarre look. “You didn’t sleep on the way here?” She asks, her voice gentle. He shakes his head and shrugs. “Was it because of your friend’s driving, Sanshine?” She frowns. “I’ll have to talk to that Seonghwa about being more careful. Your stomach is sensitive.” He laughs and brushes off the accusation. 

“It wasn’t Hwa’s driving, but thank you. I’ve just had a long week with a lot on my mind.” San says as he moves back towards the stairs. By the time he reaches the top of them, Caesar is staring at him from the base. “Well, come on then. It’s naptime, bud.” The dog chases him quickly, his limber form jostling up the stairs like a fast log. He only manages to throw himself onto the mattress and wrap himself around the shiba inu before falling into a deep abyss. 

_ The scent of honeysuckle and cinnamon drifts through a space of iridescent fractals. Every time he blinks, it is like opening his eyes to another wonder of the world. Around him, the glittering rainbows twist and dance like tiny faeries. It’s only when he glances to his right that he sees the form of another being.  _

_ A petite man sits with his knees pulled tightly against his chest. The light catches on his platinum hair, and for a moment, San swears that it is tinted lavender. It isn’t a question as the other individual turns to face him with wide eyes. The mole under his eye clicks immediately with the familiar face. _

_ “Wooyoung?” Sans voice is timid. In this place, it rings out like a soft bell. The name curls like a question before he finds it within himself to put more confidence into it. “Wooyoung.” The other man gives him a blinding smile with a small wave. “What are you doing here?” _

_ Wooyoung cocks his head to the side. “Where is here exactly, San?” His voice comes across distorted. The question is almost funny. As if San knows where they are. He voices just that and only receives a shrug in response. “You called me here.” _

San wakes up to the blaring ringtone of his cell. He scrambles to find it lost among the plush comforter of his bed and the plump dog laying on top of it. Hongjoong’s name flashes on the screen with blinding radiance. The time, he notices, is near 10pm. He missed dinner. As he lifts the phone to his ear, he can already hear the loud squawking of his friend group.

“Sannie?” Hongjoong asks. “You there, dude?” San sighs and hums his affirmation. “You sound weird. Did I wake you up?”

“‘S fine,” He slurs, his tongue thick in his mouth. “‘Sup?” He runs a hand haphazardly through his hair.

“We’re gonna go check out one of the new clubs that just opened up downtown. You wanna come?” San sighs into the receiver, his fingers finding Caesar’s soft fur curled against him. “I know we just got back and all, but Mingi’s parents are already bickering and it’s just–”

“A lot.” San interrupts. He knows the way Mingi’s family has been over the years. His parents are adorable, but both hot-blooded and constantly pick out the smallest details to argue over. “Yeah, sure. I just need to see if my grandparents are up.”

He can almost hear Hongjoong’s smile over the phone. “Okay, cool. Thanks, man.” He pauses for a second and San listens for the silence. It does not come, however, because instead he hears the soft click of a door. “Hey, San?” 

“What’s up?” Hongjoong does not speak for a second. His light breathing is the only reason the brunette even knows the older boy is still on the line. “Joong?”

“Sorry, yeah, just…” He hesitates. It’s times like this that make San wish he was in the same room. “Thank you. For what you said that day at the cafe.” San had almost forgotten about the conversation. The one that Wooyoung encouraged him to start before giving him the near silent treatment. Wooyoung, who he had an odd feeling he had spoken to recently, but could not place when or where. Hongjoong’s voice floats through the air again and San has to strain to hear it. “Sometimes, I forget that I’m not alone; no matter how many times you, Hwa, or Mingi, remind me. It’s just nice to hear it outloud once in a while; like a little reminder that I exist.” 

The admission strikes San blatantly. It is raw and unguarded in the way that Hongjoong never is. However, it mimics his soft beauty like a stray feverfew poking its petals between the cracks of a splintering sidewalk. It is the honesty that paints his words as a stunning harmony that pulls San back to reality. 

“Of course,” He whispers, unsure if the other man even hears him. “I’m always here for you, hyung.” The line buzzes with static and Hongjoong offers him a quiet hum in response. He wishes that he could pull the other into a tight embrace like when they were teens. 

“Same for you, Sannie.” Hongjoong’s tone tilts downward, tinged with something unspoken. “Always for you, okay?” He hears the distant click of the door again and Seonghwa’s muffled voice. Hongjoong must be throwing his walls back up at a blinding pace, because the next time he speaks, he sounds nothing like the man he was only seconds before. “Hwa says we’ll come grab you in twenty minutes. Is that okay?” San hums in response and offers a soft ‘see you soon’ before the call ends. 

Hongjoong’s attitude may be able to fluctuate rapidly, but San feels like a different species all together. Even as his feet press against the floor and carry him into the hall, he can’t shake the odd feeling that the call left him with. A quick glance into the hall shows him that the lights in the house have all been turned off, meaning his grandparents turned in for the night without waking him. His heart pangs slightly as he pads back to his room to change clothing. 

It does not take him long to throw on a simple black t-shirt with a small breast pocket and regular ripped skinny jeans. It is not his goal to go out and find someone. Rather, he simply wants to spend time with his friends during their first break in months. Even so, he grabs a thick velvet choker from his dresser. He remembers the piece being one of his favorites as a teenager and chuckles as he clasps it around his neck. As he travels down the stairs, he fiddles with the pen and sticky note he had written on. 

_ Back soon. Went out with the others. - S _

It’s as he presses it to the chilled surface of the counter that he notices the tupperware resting near the microwave. His grandmother had bundled up the leftovers and set them there for when he woke up. If it wasn’t already so late, he would consider eating them before heading out. Instead, he opts for a packet of crackers. The last time he drank on an empty stomach, he found himself unable to get out of bed thanks to his raging hangover. San grabs his boots and keys from the shelves in the entryway. It’s a careful process to avoid the creaking floorboards as he silently opens the door and teeters between the cold night air and the subtle warmth of his grandparents’ house. Quickly, though, he closes and locks the door behind himself. 

As he settles onto the bottom porch step to munch on the saltines, the light of his phone glows from beside him. Peering over, Wooyoung’s name glitters like a distant beacon. Rather than answer, however, he lets the call roll over to voicemail. His fingers tremble as he laces the combat boots up slowly. There was no reason for him to treat the other man so coldly. They had agreed to be friends. Yet, something about the proposition was difficult for San to accept. The conversation lingers at the forefront of his mind once again. 

“Friends?” Wooyoung had held his hand out to San like a grenade waiting to be unpinned. The soft, but oh so warm, look in his eyes twinkling the way the older man had grown to associate with comfort. “With a hint of something more, if you ever need it.” San knew what the words meant. Friends with benefits. A commitment without commiting. He pushes the nagging thoughts that scream he isn’t good enough to be anything official; anything more.

Nonetheless, San latched onto his outstretched hand with an empty smile and a numb drumming in his chest. “Friends.” He added a wink for good measure while throwing in the same words Wooyoung had used, “And maybe something more.” 

It was a dull promise that he never meant to let possess him in the way it did. He still had no clue why Wooyoung chose to sever the chance of ever building a romantic relationship; one where they could go on dates and plan their future. In the past, San would have jumped at the chance to be friends with benefits with just about anyone. It was freeing to just get up and go while still knowing the body warming the mattress beside you would be there for fun when you needed next. With Wooyoung, though, the thought of leaving was like shoving an ice pick into his heart. 

As the moonlight dances on his skin, San pushes the memory from his mind. He shoves a cracker into his mouth as chews slowly, fighting the urge to spit the grainy texture onto the pavement.  _ When did eating become so difficult?  _ His train of thought is upended as the cell beside him lights up again. A glance down shows Hongjoong’s message on the lockscreen, ‘omw! b outside in like 2min, dweebus. A chuckle ghosts into the night air as he pushes himself from the porch and brushes off his jeans. Existential crises can wait until his blood is pumped full of vodka cran. 

Seonghwa stores his car in a nearby parking deck and the group tumbles from the vehicle like it is nothing more than a clown car. None of them have gone for wildly obtrusive outfits, and for a second, San wonders if they’re getting old. It’s a thought that makes a giggle bubble from the depths of his chest and has the entire group staring with wide eyes.

“You alright, Sannie?” Mingi’s voice is low and beyond baffled. Yunho’s arm is wrapped around the red head’s waist. They could both pass for models with their height and appearance; easily. San cocks an eyebrow at the rest of the group and grins wildly.

“Are we getting too old for the clubbing scene?”

Hongjoong gasps and smacks his shoulder dramatically. “You’re not even twenty-five yet. Stop talking.” The pout that crosses the older man’s face is priceless, even as his boyfriend laughs into the back of his hand. “Don’t encourage him, Hwa!”

The eldest’s eyes grow wide at the accusation. He bumbles through his words for a moment before settling on a simple, “I would never,” that makes San squawk in mock offense.

“You would  _ never _ encourage me, hyung? How horrible!”

Seonghwa’s mouth pops open into a dainty ‘o’ just as Hongjoong motions wildly.  _ Strict dad mode: activated.  _ He speaks to everyone, but his eyes settle on San alone. “Now, we’re all going to stick together tonight, right?” He takes a step closer to the brunette. “No wandering off with pretty people just because they say they have candy in their pants, right?” Another step. “We don’t need a secret word in case of stranger danger, right, San?”

“Why do you  _ assume _ that I’m going to get into something tonight? Is it because I’m a fifth wheel?” He gestures over his apparel. “I’m not even wearing my ‘fuck-me’ pumps. This is single-person-phobia.”

Yunho rolls his eyes and claps a hand onto San’s shoulder with a soft  _ whap _ . “Every time we go out, you sprint off to the first rich executive you see to bribe them for unlimited mixed drinks.” San crosses his arms over his chest. His eyes narrow into slits as he pretends to throw his hair over his shoulder.

“I do not.”

He did. 

The man’s name is Trevor. Or Trent. Or Cameron. It didn’t really matter. Not with his calloused hands beneath the thin fabric of San’s t-shirt; massaging small circles into the sensitive skin of his hips. Not with his slimy, thick tongue in San’s mouth; swirling along the roof of his mouth and tracing his teeth. And especially not with his hot breath as he finally pulled his lips away from San’s long enough to murmur, “Let’s get a hotel room.” 

San wants to tell him that he’s not in the mood. That he doesn’t do hookups anymore and that he has someone back in Seoul. But those are both lies and he can’t bring himself to actually speak the words as the man, Trent, it was definitely Trent, leads him to a slick, blue Camaro. He pushes him against the cold glass and San does not remember coming outside. He does not remember getting in the car or buckling his seatbelt.

He does, however, pick up the way his stomach drops as the car’s engine turns on. He does feel his mind lurch painfully as static builds between his ears. Something screams danger. It begs him to get out of the vehicle and run back inside to his friends. To tell Hongjoong that he was right. Not just about his habits, but that San needs someone to lean on. It’s only when his vision glitches with iridescent spectrals of fractured light that the vision starts. 

_ There is a lurching motion and a horrifying cacophony of ripping metal as they plow into the guardrail. The car flips once and then twice. A man inside the blue Camaro, with raven hair and deeply carved dimples, comes into consciousness just long enough to struggle with his seatbelt before the explosion. It ends in flames and heat. _

He feels his body shiver as the images fade. It’s only when a halting voice sirens through his mind that he finds the initiative to move.  _ “Get out of the car, San. Go back to your friends.”  _

“I have to leave,” he yells, unbuckling the seatbelt. Before Trent, maybe it was Trevor, can stop him, San throws open the door and stumbles back to the club. The bouncer at the entrance stares at him for a moment before placing him as someone who already was inside. He moves out of the way, allowing San to fly past, much to the dismay of every one still waiting to get in. 

The panic does not send him over the edge until a hand grabs his shoulder tightly. Just as he turns to scream at the offender, he takes in warm, brown eyes and lavender hair. He throws himself at the slightly smaller man until the tears stop rolling down his cheeks. 

Wooyoung holds him as though the world is collapsing. For a while, he says nothing. He only strokes San’s hair tenderly and presses a soft kiss to the crown of his head as the older begins to quiet. Muffled voices draw closer and San can feel the rumble of Wooyoung’s chest as he dives into a conversation.

“What happened?” San can barely make out Hongjoong’s tone past the cotton that seems to fill his ears. Sniffling, he tucks his head further into Wooyoung’s grasp. The other man does not react adversely, instead, he pulls him as close as he can without suffocating him. The younger cannot respond before another one of San’s friends interrupt.

“You’re Wooyoung, right?” Mingi’s deep voice echoes softly. The blond hums in response, afraid to jostle San as he calms, and cards his fingers through his raven strands. “Don’t you live in Seoul? What the hell are you doing out here?” 

“Visiting my cousin. He should be around here somewhere, but I was getting our drinks when I saw Sannie—“

It’s Seonghwa now that cuts him off. Like the protector he is, the man bristles at the casual name dropping. “Don’t call him that.” San finally lifts his head to see Seonghwa’s fiery gaze. It does not leave Wooyoung’s as he continues, “You don’t get to call him that.”

Wooyoung’s body tenses at the statement. His eyes narrow as a frown crosses his lips. “And why, exactly, is that?” He asks. It’s a dark question; laced with something San can’t pinpoint.

“You threw him to the side the moment you found a new boy toy. What would Yeonjun think of you cradling another man and giving him pet names?”

The bark of laughter that leaves Wooyoung’s throat is hyena-like. It gets higher pitched every time it builds to its closure only to start again. By the time he is able to speak again, he’s wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. San leans back further until he finally separates from the blonde.

“My cousin?” Wooyoung smiles before chuckling again. “I certainly hope he wouldn’t care what I do in my personal life.”  _ Oh fuck _ . In the manner of an old video he saw online, the only thing bouncing around San’s mind like a forgotten screensaver is  _ ‘and they were cousins’. _

San’s wide eyes meet Wooyoung’s as the younger man gasps quietly. “San, you thought…?” As the brunette nods slowly, face crimson with burning embarrassment, Wooyoung covers his mouth with his palm. “Oh my god.  _ Oh my god, is that why you’ve been ignoring me?” _

Hongjoong, in turn, sucks in a deep breath. “San, you failed to mention that you were ignoring him.” San doesn’t meet his gaze. Immediately, Hongjoong squeaks. “Choi San, were you  _ avoiding _ Wooyoung?” 

“He stopped texting me first!”

Wooyoung flicks San’s forehead. “Only because you kept responding with one word answers and those damn ‘OK’ emojis!” A noise of defeat leaves his lips. “I thought you weren’t interested, but you were just jealous of  _ my cousin. _ ” 

San mumbles, “I didn’t know Yeonjun was your cousin,” just as a tall boy with blue hair approaches the group. His expression is almost apologetic as he bows in front of them. Wooyoung motions at the man with vigor. As he speaks, he shoots San a mischievous look.

“Yeonjun, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. This is Choi San.” San offers an embarrassed wave as Yeonjun smiles in his direction. “San, this is my  _ cousin,  _ Choi Yeonjun.” Yeonjun seems to process the information for a few moments before letting out a loud bark of laughter. 

“You thought Wooyoung and I were together?” San nods, his face flushing an annoying shade of red. The night’s earlier events have been pushed to the back of his mind for the time being. Instead, he knows that damage control is the most important part. The blue-haired man claps him on the shoulder. “It happens to the best of us, pal.” He offers San a toothy grin before turning back to face his cousin. “I was going to ask if you want to head back to my apartment, but…” He filters off as his gaze trails back to San slowly. 

Wooyoung blinks owlishly between the two. Subtly, he bites the pink flesh of his bottom lip, focusing on San. It’s a sign and the older man knows it. However, he also knows what his weekend is supposed to be, and as much as he would love to take Wooyoung up on an earlier offer, he forces himself to shrug sheepishly. “I’m staying with my grandparents in the more residential part of town.” Wooyoung nods, understanding what San is laying down without a question. “I’ll be back in Seoul on Sunday night if you want to grab dinner?”

Wooyoung smiles brilliantly, his teeth glittering in the green strobe light of the club. “Sure.” He turns to Yeonjun with a quick spin. “We head back if you’re ready,” He says, his eyes flickering back to San’s face for a moment. Before he can process it, the blond slips a finger into the pocket of San’s shirt and pulls him close. It’s soft, but San feels the warmth of the other’s lips on his cheek for a moment. It’s over quickly and Wooyoung is waving at the group as the two make their way out of the club. Behind him, Mingi whistles.

“You’re whipped.” The red head says, his deep laugh drifting through the air like molten chocolate. “I don’t think you’ve ever been romantically cheek-pecked in your life.” His hands wrap around San’s waist as he plants a kiss on his temple. San screeches and tries to bat the taller man away; much to the entertainment of the other members in the group. 

“It wasn’t romantic!” San squirms in Mingi’s arms until the other finds the mercy to release him. “Wooyoung said he doesn’t want strings to be attached.” He turns on his heel until he faces Seonghwa. “Can we please leave?”

Hongjoong laughs from his boyfriend’s side. “Dude, we were trying to find you for thirty minutes before Wooyoung got to you first. You disappeared on us.” The older man smiles and leans into Seonghwa. “Where’d you go anyways? Last thing I saw, you were buttering up some rich asshole by the bar.”

San grunts and runs a hand through his hair. He is definitely too sober for this conversation. “With the rich asshole to his car.” Hongjoong hoots before catching the look that crosses the younger’s face. 

“What happened, San?” When the raven-haired boy does not answer, Hongjoong steps closer. “Sannie, baby, what happened?” It only takes the tender caress of the red head’s thumb across San’s jaw to break him once again. Suddenly, he is sobbing into his petite friend’s shoulder, arms around his waist as though Hongjoong was the only thing tethering him to the Earth. Hongjoong holds on tightly, his palms rubbing careful circles into San’s shoulder blades. “We’re taking you home, sweetheart.” 

It’s a numbing experience. The ride home is a liminal space. He spends it cradled against Yunho’s chest as Mingi runs his fingers through San’s hair. Every so often, Hongjoong reaches out to grab his fingers and play with them in an absentminded way. It’s the feeling of safety without a place to really settle down; like walking on a glass bridge between two skyscrapers. You can see the ground, but from this high up, it’s hard to tell how far down it truly is. 

They don’t take him back to his grandparents’ house. Instead, they all pile into Hongjoong’s small bedroom, pull blankets off of the bed, and make a massive nest out of the pillows. For a second, San remembers all of the moments they spent doing this throughout childhood. Just the three of them; before Yunho and Seonghwa were part of the picture. For some reason, though, he does not mind the presence of the two extra bodies. The five of them were a family. His.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhh sooo today was a rough day in the twt atiny world. Stay safe, happy, and keep supporting our boys.
> 
> This chapter is kind of a mess, but it was getting too long so I needed to take a break.
> 
> I'll be back with a new chapter in a few days!
> 
> For updates and whatever else I meme about find me on Instagram, Twitter, and Curious Cat: @KyojinOuji  
> I always follow back and love making new friends.
> 
> Cheers!


	3. Take Yourself Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Suicidal Thoughts, Drug Use, Violence, Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooyoung is not really present in this chapter! There will be another coming in a few days, so if you are only really here for WooSan, then I would wait to read both back to back!

> _ “Talk to me. _
> 
> _ There's nothing that can't be fixed with some honesty _
> 
> _ And how it got this dark is just beyond to me. _
> 
> _ If anyone can hear me switch the lights. _
> 
> _ And happiness is right there where you lost it _
> 
> _ When you took the bet. _
> 
> _ Counting all the losses that you can't collect. _
> 
> _ Got everything and nothing in my life. _
> 
> _ I'm tired of the city.  _
> 
> _ Scream if you're with me. _
> 
> _ If I'm gonna die, let's die somewhere pretty.” _
> 
> **_Take Yourself Home_ ** _ by Troye Sivan _
> 
> * * *

When the sun finds his cheeks, San wakes up to the warmth of the dog pile the group had fallen into ungracefully. It’s alarming at first to feel the mass tangle of bodies around him, but registering the familiar expanse of Hongjoong’s childhood bedroom brings him back to the present easily. It’s the gentle breathing of the others that really pulls him together as he remembers the greasy touch of Trevor, or Trent, or whatever the hell the man’s name had been. He thinks of the beautiful, but absolutely concerned face that frowned at him as he clung to Wooyoung’s petite frame. In that moment, San was a delicate petal pulled from its home by a raging storm wind. Even as he sits up, untangling himself from his friends’ limbs, he feels confused. Lost; separated from whatever path he should have been following and thrown into an entirely different direction. 

Carefully, he begins to move from the center of the nest, only to disturb Yunho by bumping into his long, outstretched leg. The brunette fidgets slightly in his half-awake state, blinking up at San owlishly, as he rubs the back of his fist against his barely open eyes. San tries to motion for him to go back to sleep, that he’s just getting up to use the bathroom, but Yunho frowns as his gaze wanders over him. Instead, the brunette sits up and begins to untangle himself from Mingi’s tight grasp. The red head grumbles something into Yunho’s chest, but rolls over to cling to Hongjoong’s small back.

“What are you doing?” San whispers, almost frantic. He was not planning on staying out all night, not when his grandparents were expecting him home  _ and  _ there was jjigae that he still had not eaten. Yunho, hearing the panic lacing his voice, only sends him a reassuring wink and lifts his index finger to his mouth. By the time the taller frees himself entirely from the group, he takes the room in two strides. With a vague gesture, he leaves the room. San, unsure of what else he could possibly do in this situation, follows cautiously. He watches Yunho descend the stairs swiftly and travel out the front door. With a sigh, San pads after him.

Yunho sits on the front step of the Kim’s house. His hands in his lap, he offers San a soft laugh as the exhausted man slams down next to him. He’s sluggish and not the most graceful first thing in the morning. It should not be a surprise. As San attempts to relay just that, Yunho interrupts him. Dark eyes filled with brotherly worry, San immediately thinks that the other boy looks like a puppy. 

“San, answer me honestly, what happened last night?” His voice is deep. It’s still jostling that sleepy quality that should not sound so precious coming from such a looming figure. San can see why Mingi acts as though his boyfriend hung the moon. “We didn’t get to talk about it, but honestly, you and I never really have a chance to just talk anymore.”

San chuckles. “I’m not the one that decided to hook up with my co-worker’s best friend only days after meeting him.” The inside quip hits Yunho all at once. The brunette stutters loudly; large hands coming up to cover his now crimson face. “Yunho, it still doesn’t bother me.” San offers him a dimpled smile as the other man peers at him between his fingers. “But you’re right. I miss talking to you.”

“So, what exactly happened?” Yunho lowers one hand enough that he can rest his chin on it. For a moment, it's as though the man has become a professional therapist. The thought makes San roll his eyes, much to Yunho’s obvious dismay. “Sannie, seriously. I can’t help prevent it from happening again if I have no idea what actually went down last night.”

“How much do you remember?”

Yunho purses his lips. His focus flutters into the middle distance as he apparently thinks back on the event with great detail. When he speaks, it is slow and calculated. “You were talking to some dude at the bar. We didn’t want to stop you because Mingi kept insisting that you needed to get your mind off of Wooyoung. Next thing we knew, you were sucking face like there was no tomorrow and we saw the two of you stumbling towards the bathrooms.” Yunho’s head falls back into his hands. “Shit, San, we should have just stopped you there. I wasn’t thinking straight, but that was the last thing you needed last night.”

San shakes his head, laying a palm on the boy’s shoulder. “Yun, it wasn’t your fault.” He rubs the bridge of his nose, a tension headache having already started to take hold, and thinks about what had happened after the group lost track of him. “I was going to hook up with him. Something stopped me though.” Yunho listens intently, his brown eyes wide. “It was a horrible vision of a car crash. God, Yunho, it was the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”

He feels a chill run down his spine as he thinks back on it. The image of himself trapped inside that stupid blue Camaro. Yunho’s hand rubs a soothing circle into his shoulder blade. Quietly, he pushes on, “I saw myself die. It was the same car that the guy was going to drive us to the hotel in. I realized it just as something started ringing in my ears. It was a voice without sound, you know?” He glances to the man next to him who just nods softly. “Do you believe in the angels, Yunho?”

“The guardians?” San nods as Yunho bites the skin of his bottom lip. “I do.” The words come out as a whisper. San does not want to push the other to respond further, but the brunette takes it upon himself to continue nonetheless. “It’s a secret, San, but I’ve gotten all three of my warnings.” San’s quiet gasp fills the silent morning air around them.

“Already?” Yunho nods. Soft and fast, as though admitting it is too much, and nibbles on the skin of his thumb. “I’m so sorry, Yunho.” The brunette blinks at him as the apology hits his ears. 

“What are you sorry for?” His smile does not reach his eyes. “You weren’t the one trying to kill me. Honestly, it was all on me. Most of the stuff was reckless and entirely my fault.” 

How could anything about Yunho be reckless? Rather than continue the conversation, though, San lets it filter from the air. Yunho does not seem to be disappointed as the tension leaves his shoulders. Before the world can tilt any further off course, San finds it within himself to breathe. “What happens when you run out of warnings?”

Yunho smiles, his fingers tanging with the soft brown strands that hang almost in his eyes. “You learn to live.” As his voice fades from the air around them, San looks at the other man in an entirely new way. His friend is no longer just the puppy willing to follow Mingi’s every move. He’s a pillar of hope and light shining bright just beyond the horizon. A tale of truth.

San thinks about the conversation the entire way back to his grandparents house. A glance at his cellphone, which he ran upstairs to collect after comfortable silence between him and the brunette began to weigh heavily on his mind, shows him that it is hardly nine in the morning. Even so, he knows that his grandparents will be wide awake and ready to beat him with a broom for disappearing unexpectedly. 

As he enters the front gate, he is met with a wild Caesar jumping at his shins. The dog’s paws spread mud along the ripped jeans; as though they weren’t already ruined by the lingering stench of alcohol. He laughs at the energetic greeting only to hear a mumbled, ‘good morning’ arise from the small vegetable garden around the corner. His grandfather kneels in the dirt; eyes wide as though he has been caught red-handed in a heinous crime.

San hums playfully. “I thought you were banned from gardening until your back heals.” His grandfather chuckles, rubbing a soil-coated palm on the olive green apron that hangs around his waist. San watches the way it tints under the dark pigment.

“What your grandmother does not know can’t hurt her.” He grins mischievously in San’s direction. “She slept in this morning, which means you can bolt in there and grab a shower before she knows you were out all night.” He winks at his grandson, eyes twinkling. “So long as you keep my secret.” San is off like a shot before the man can offer him any other witty comment. 

By the time his grandmother is out of bed, San has already showered and discarded the evidence of last night beneath a tan turtleneck. The sticky note he left on the counter was crumpled up and shoved into the pits of the trash before she could even give it a second glance. As he wanders down the stairs, Caesar at his heels, he spots his grandfather sitting at the counter. Their eyes meet for a brief moment before the elderly man winks in his direction and continues to read the newspaper as though he was never outside in the first place. Maybe, his ornery nature does come from nurture. 

His grandmother stands beside the stove, the tea kettle just beginning to squeal, as she casts a backward glance over her shoulder. She gives him a warm smile, arms immediately opening for a hug, and tilts her head in a ‘come here’ gesture. He drifts across the kitchen easily, looping his arms around her slim waist, and presses a soft kiss to her rosy cheeks. She is a tiny woman, hardly coming up to his shoulder, and the thought of her falling in love with the tall, muscular man that is his grandfather always makes him laugh. Childhood sweethearts who grew apart briefly only to realize just how hopelessly in love they were. He sees his mother in her loving face and the thought pangs in his chest for just a moment. It is not something they speak about, not willingly at least, and he pushes the woman’s debauched memory from his mind with force. 

“Did you sleep well, Sunshine?” His grandmother’s warm eyes glitter in the daylight. It’s like watching gold melt and swirl together with the most muted caramel tones. “I didn’t want to wake you last night. I know how you are about long rides.” Internally, San feels his chest constrict. Her benevolent nature has always been the driving force behind him coming home. He hums softly, finally pulling himself out of her arms, and leans against the counter. 

“I did, thank you. I guess I was more tired than I thought.” San’s voice is gentle. Slowly, his focus draws itself through the open window and into the backyard. In the distance, he can just make out the woods that they used to play in as children. A graveyard for lost souls and naivety. His grandparents notice the distraction as his gaze flickers between the conversation and the window. 

From his seat, his grandfather clears his throat loudly, “Why not go for a walk?” San turns to look at him, eyes wide, and laughs when the older man shrugs dramatically. “I’m just saying. You’ve spent months in the city. It might be nice to get some fresh, countryside air for a little while.” He’s completely right. Breathing in Seoul is difficult. It’s not just the carbon emissions or the city-life itself, but the feeling of always being watched. As though someone’s grip is around the back of his throat and threatening to push down at any given moment. A walk through tree lined halls of nostalgia would be safe. Comfortable. 

San nods, a ghost of a grin spreading across his lips, and moves towards the door. He hardly has his fingers against the fabric of Caesar’s leash before the shiba inu is threatening to knock him over. “Wanna go outside, bud?” His grandmother chuckles as she takes the now screaming kettle off of the stove. “Do you guys not take him on walks anymore?” 

His grandfather hums, sipping coffee as he emerges from his newspaper coma once more. His voice is gruff as he mumbles, “Once a week at least.”  _ Lord, no wonder _ . The metal clasp loops through Caesar’s collar with a sharp click. It’s a one foot after the other sort of prance that he does, weaving between San’s legs like a very graceless ballerina.  _ You would be expelled from dance school, little dog. _

Morning dew twinkles like thousands of iridescent stars high up in the canopy of trees. Each one casting fractals of splintered light, miniscule rainbows calling out to him. Beckoning him further and further into the woods. And he finds himself listening. San walks for what feels like hours, his feet carrying him across the sea of pine needles and downtrodden soil. 

In front of him, Caesar prances without a care in the world. It doesn’t surprise him that the dog seems unaffected by the energy around them. He was simply excited to be stretching his legs. His grandparents were not at the top of their health and it was becoming difficult for them to walk him frequently. San did not mind the effort, however. Especially not when the dog’s bright eyes turn to face him every so often; filled to the brim with glee. It’s a peaceful escape from the world. Or it is until he sees the remnants of abandoned, muddy rope. 

Just past the small clearing, a crevice separates the earth; a low horizon line drawing him far into his own mental recess. Rotting wood planks lay scattered on both halves of the cliff. Broken bottles and beer cans are simply littered confetti to the world around him. Teenagers, desperate to get out of their houses, would come here to drink and party. To catch a glimpse of a ghost; an earth-angel. They came to the shallow grave of a girl who sought to walk on water. Or above it.

The sound of rushing water isn’t nearly as deafening now as it was all those years ago. Caesar, uninterested in the scenery, focuses his attention on a snail that inches carefully across the mossy oak of a tree trunk. The past flickers past him like scenes on a film reel. Cops and robbers. Her yellow, paisley dress. The teetering of the bridge. And the dull thud splash when she fell in. 

He stands near the edge of the horizon. Peering over, as an adult, the fall does not look that bad. Twenty feet, give or take, but with the fast stream beneath it and the rocky cushion, the event was predictable. He could do it too. Just a step further. They would say that it was an accident. That he slipped while walking his family’s dog. That there was no one around to find him. When he hears it, his own voice of reasoning screaming for him to listen, he takes a step back. And then another.

Ice travels down his spine with a painful tug.  _ Why was this happening?  _ The intrusive nature of his thoughts and the way they pushed him to sacrifice himself over and over for a cause that did not exist. Lavender hair comes to mind. Glittering beneath the morning sun, he can almost picture Wooyoung sitting beside him. His delicate frame resting against the same bark the Caesar so intently paws at. His dark eyes warm with something close to appreciation. It’s Wooyoung’s visage that makes him take one step back. And then another. Until finally, he is tugging on Caesar’s leash gently. 

In a whisper soft enough to tousle nothing heavier than dandelion fluff, San turns the tides, “Come on, boy.” The dog’s ears perk slightly at his voice. “Let’s go home.” The crunch of pine needles beneath his boots is a tender melody that resonates within his rib cage. It is the sound of pansies blooming from the marrow of his bones. 

Just before he reaches the woodline, the tinny ringtone of his cell draws his attention. As he lifts it to silence it, not wishing to speak to anyone, Seonghwa’s ID flashes across the screen. While the man is one of his very best friends, it is impossibly uncommon for him to call. Especially when he is right down the street and his boyfriend is completely capable of handling all phone conversations. It’s only when he answers with a cautious, “Yeah?”, that the older’s voice catches him entirely off guard. 

Seonghwa offers a deep, “San?” It comes through garbled and staticy. “Have you been watching the news?” The question is bizarre.  _ Who even watches the news anymore? _ With social media, it’s so much easier just to browse the trending tags. He hesitates, hearing Seonghwa’s end grow clearer as he breaks through the trees and into his grandparents’ backyard.

“No?” He mumbles, the end turning up into the twist of a query. “Why would I be watching the news? I was walking Caesar-”

Seonghwa interrupts, “We’re coming over.” The line goes dead. San drops the dog’s leash and breaks into a full sprint. As he tears through the back door of the house, he breezes past his grandmother. He hardly hears her greeting as he stumbles into the main room and flicks on the TV. The first news channel he tries is showing a story about the dangers of feeding pond ducks bread rather than corn. However, the second showcases a newscaster standing before the charred remains of a blue Camaro. Instantly, his stomach flips. 

It’s only then that he hears the knock at the door. His grandmother must be the one to open it as she asks, “What is going on?” before a palm lands on his shoulder. Through blurring vision, he watches Trevor’s– his name was  _ fucking _ Trevor– face flash onto the corner of the screen. He is almost thirty years old and the CEO of a small tech company. He was. Beneath his face and name is a rolling headline, “Fatal car crash ends the life of upcoming CEO.” 

San does not realize that he is crying until a sob tears out of his chest. Hongjoong pulls him into a tight embrace, tugging until San falls into his lap on the ground, and runs a soothing hand through his hair. He can’t feel the way Seonghwa hugs his other side, his lips pressing a soft kiss to his temple. He does not even notice Yunho or Mingi as they tumble through the front door; apparently having witnessed the mad dash the other two made down the street. 

He does, however, hear Yunho’s quiet gasp, “But it wasn’t you.” The brunette tumbles down to join the growing pile of limbs. “It wasn’t you, Sannie. It could have been you.” Yunho’s fingers thread through his own. “It wasn’t you.”

The sun has just begun to set by the time the group is able to speak without their voices wavering like a rolling storm on the sea. Mingi breaks the silence by clearing his throat and tossing a sidelong glance in Yunho’s direction. San hardly registers the way the brunette nods in his boyfriend’s direction. Mingi is careful as his warm palm settles over San’s knee. 

“Hey, Sanshine?” His eyes feel warm, swollen, and absolutely miserable. Scratch that, he feels absolutely miserable. But the way Mingi searches his face for a sign of a further break makes his heart grow fuzzy. No matter how many people they add to their little family, he knows that they care. Mingi and Hongjoong have been there since the beginning of time. They held his hands at his mother’s funeral. Fed him Cosmic Brownies and slightly burnt popcorn during horror movie marathons that Mingi could hardly see through the cracks in his fingers. They held his hair back when he had food poisoning and the half mullet he was sporting was just long enough to get filthy. Mingi rubs his thumb against the fabric just above San’s knee, prompting him to respond.

“That’s me.” 

He fights the urge to blush when his voice cracks like he’s going through a second puberty. It’s not as though the others would be able to tell, not with the tear stains, but his dignity can only take so many hits. Mingi offers him a small, sympathetic smile. His damn smile could save the world from disaster. When Mingi speaks again, he’s a little braver with his voice, “Can we tell you something?”

The question makes his heart do a disgusting flip. The anxiety that builds up seems to be trying to boil over until he drowns beneath the bubbly pressure. Still though, he nods to his friend. Yunho, puffing out his cheeks slightly, takes a deep breath. He presses his palms against his eyes and rubs, obviously trying to force out whatever anxiety he feels as well. It is not uncommon to see Yunho like this, but when paired with the need for whatever conversation they are about to have, San instantly feels his body begin to shake. Hongjoong must sense it as he loops his arms around his waist softly. Finally, Yunho lifts his head and sighs. 

“Remember our conversation from earlier, San?” The brunette asks. San can only nod; how could he forget? “I left out a pretty big part of what actually happened for me when it came to my angel.” As if in slow motion, he watches the way Yunho reaches for Mingi’s hand. Their fingers intertwine, and for a brief second, San watches a faint gold glow circle around the place a wedding ring would sit. It’s gone before he can process what he saw. Instead, he stares at the couple in absolute confusion. “Mingi and I have a soul bond.” 

The room falls silent. In the distance, the sound of Caesar’s nails can be heard on the hardwood floor. Finally, San whispers, “How?” Mingi had been there for years. There was no way the man was an angel, especially without San or Hongjoong knowing. But the fierce look that glints in the red head’s eyes suddenly makes the information click. 

“It started when I was about five on the playground. The first warning was simple: don’t wander off.” Yunho fidgets with the thread of Mingi’s sleeve. “My mom said that some man was watching me from a distance. We didn’t realize it until a few other parents saw him first.” Mingi puffs out his cheeks and presses a soft kiss to Yunho’s temple before interrupting. 

“I saw it in a dream. It happened in flashes; one second I was watching Yunho play soccer and the next he was getting pulled into the woods. I couldn’t handle it and woke up screaming.” San vividly remembers Mingi’s mom rambling on and on about the other boy’s night terrors. It suddenly makes sense. “I just remember begging him to stay with his mom.” Yunho shudders involuntarily, his arms coming up to wrap around himself. 

He shakes the feeling off quickly, eyes meeting San’s again. His voice is low as he speaks, “The second was in high school. I went with some friends to a party that I never should have been at.” Yunho’s skin pales as he talks. “I don’t remember much, which honestly bothers me more than the actual event, but I do remember someone offering me a handful of pills. Everyone was popping them and I figured one or two couldn’t hurt if it was everywhere.

I lost control though; I don’t know how many I took. Next thing I knew, I was laying on the tile of the host’s bathroom. Everything was cold and I couldn't stop shaking.” Yunho pauses, pulling a deep breath into his chest. “And then I heard it again. A voice begging me to call 911.” He offers a subtle smile, as though testing the waters to gauge San’s reaction. San offers him a horrified, wide-eyed stare. “I wasn’t going to. I thought, ‘ _ What if I’m overreacting? Everyone at school is going to remember you as the dork who called an ambulance and broke up the biggest party of the year.’ _ I realized that it wouldn’t matter much how popular I was if I died at the party either, though, and just did it.” 

Mingi grumbles into his palms. “I still can’t believe you almost didn’t listen to me.”

Yunho shrugs and rolls his eyes. “Babe, I’m sorry. We’ve been over this.” His arm slings over Mingi’s shoulder before the other man can pout much more. “I was a bitchy little punk, we all know it.” He focuses back on San. “You were actually there for the third time, San.”

San feels his brows pull tight into a confused furrow. “When?” He has to admit, the group has had plenty of near death experiences. However, one that could have actually killed Yunho? The other thing he can think of is– “The extension cord?” He wants to chuckle. To say that that would be ridiculous. But Yunho’s serious expression prevents that entirely. “No fucking way.”

Yunho nods. “Mingi was the reason I unplugged it.” Back when San had worked at the cafe, there had been a night he stayed at Yunho’s apartment. The two had been eating pizza and playing SuperSmash when suddenly they started to smell burning plastic. They originally brushed it off, but in a sudden spark of genius, Yunho ran over to the extension cord housing the TV and game systems and unplugged it.

“Imagine how terrifying it is to see one of my two best friends and my soul bond in the same vision.” Mingi rubs the bridge of his nose. “I will never forget what I saw that night. It was definitely the worst of them all.” He finally meets San’s apprehensive gaze. “You made it out alive. I don’t fucking know how, but you did.” He shakes his head before pushing his face into Yunho’s shoulder. 

“When you asked me what happens after all three warnings are given, I wasn’t sure what to say.” Yunho frowns, his nimble fingers running through the hair at the nape of Mingi’s neck. “You learn to live, San, because there are no more warnings. You have to treat every moment like it’s going to be your last, but that’s okay.” 

“How did you two figure it out? That you were each other’s bonds?”

Mingi laughs, the noise muffled by Yunho’s sweater. He turns his head slightly so that only one half of his face is visible. “Thanks to you, I knew who he was. I couldn’t keep it to myself forever. So, that one night you had us over for wine and _ The Notebook _ , I spilled everything to him while he walked me home.” For some reason, the revelation makes San giggle. It starts as a quiet sound, like bells tinkling on a cat’s collar, and turns into something louder. Manic. Hongjoong tenses against him, and suddenly, San’s mind clicks. 

Carefully, he says, “Joong, why haven’t you guys said anything?” Hongjoong does not respond. Instead, his gaze flickers over to Seonghwa. The dark haired man gnaws on his bottom lip, a worried look sputtering in his eyes. “No fucking way.”

“Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad!” San yells, pushing away from the older man. “I’m irritated, but I’m not mad. Do you just not trust me?” Hongjoong’s mouth falls open. It is a low blow, San knows, but he can’t help the way his chest hurts.

“We were going to tell you, Sannie. I promise.” He looks down at the chipping blue polish on his one pinky. “We just didn’t know the right time.” San feels his heart deflate. 

“Any time,” He whispers. “Any time would have been the right time.” The room is quiet again. San wants to scream. He wants to beg his friends to tell him the truth, and nothing but the truth, but to also stay silent. “How long have you known?”

“I got my last vision the night you met Wooyoung.” Seonghwa speaks now, his hand wrapped tightly around Hongjoong’s bicep. He’s trembling, that much San can see with just a glance. Suddenly, he feels horrible for yelling at them. He can’t even imagine what they have been through while he’s been finding himself. “You didn’t believe in angels, San. We didn’t want to force you to understand.”

San fights the burn of tears that threaten to spill over. At this point, he isn’t even sure if he has any left to cry. The thick heat of betrayal and embarrassment coats his throat. “You lied to me, Joong. You said you only had one of your warnings.” Hongjoong nods, wiping away a stray tear that leaks down his cheek. San hates seeing the older man cry. He hates whatever this is. “Why?”

“San, I love you, you know that.” Hongjoong does not meet his eyes. “You’ve always been so adamant that angels don’t exist. That it’s all just mythical bullshit.” He freezes. “I was scared you would call me crazy; that you would reject us.”

“I would never reject you.” San finds himself moving closer to the small man. “You’re basically my brother, Joong. Hell, all of you are.” He pushes past the lump in his throat. “You guys could have just told me.”

“We know,” Seonghwa whispers. “That’s why we’re doing this now.” Seonghwa pulls San into a warm hug between him and Hongjoong. “Which is also why we need to talk about something else.”

San leans back slightly to stare at the other man. “What else could there possibly be?” At this point, he isn’t sure he can handle more. But Hongjoong gives him an almost bashful smile. 

As he fiddles with the charm that hangs from his necklace, the older man says, “We think Wooyoung is your angel.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello loves!  
> As per usual, thank you for reading! It's finals week for me, and being the Creative Writing major that I am, ya boi is in poetry mode. The next chapter should be out by Friday (hopefully; I have to dream big.)
> 
> Find me on Twitter, Curious Cat, or Instagram: @KyojinOuji  
> I always follow back and adore having new mutuals. 
> 
> Cheers!


	4. Roses/Lotus/Violet/Iris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Past self-harm mention/scar focus.

> _ “I have seen your body and I have seen your beauty. _
> 
> _ They are separate things;  _
> 
> _ Pretty, pretty, pretty things. _
> 
> _ But I am in a garden, tending to my own, _
> 
> _ So what do I care and what do you care if I grow?” _
> 
> **_Roses/Lotus/Violet/Iris_ ** _ \- Hayley Williams _
> 
> * * *

The suitcase thumps back into the trunk of Seonghwa’s car with a dull clunk. San’s grandfather, wiping his hands on the woven red yarn of his sweater, smiles in the boys’ direction. His salt and pepper hair glitters beneath the morning sun as he pulls San into a tight hug. Home. His arms always feel like home. Breathing in the elderly man’s subtle apple cinnamon scent, he buries his face in his shoulder. 

“You boys be safe now, you hear?” His grandfather presses a kiss into the brunette’s hair. Caesar’s small paws scratch at the back of his knee. San pulls away from the older man and kneels beside the frantic creature. An earth-angel in his own right. His fingers dig deep into the animal’s puffy cheeks as he rubs his nose to the dog’s snout. 

He fights back tears, of both imminent homesickness and adoration, and whispers, “Make sure they take you out more often, you dorky thing.” His voice cracks awkwardly as he scratches behind Caesar’s ears once more. To the side, his grandmother stands with her hands on her hips. Her face is full of warmth and reflects the genuine feeling that, for once, he belongs. 

“Promise me you will text me when you get back to Seoul?” 

San laughs, “You hardly know how to open your phone, Gran.” She waves him off, a grin plastering on her dainty lips. In two quick strides, she pulls him into a tight hug. 

“Don’t be a smartass.” She pauses before drawing her attention to Mingi’s form in the back seat. “You’ll text me, right dear?” Mingi giggles but nods fervently.  _ Teacher’s pet.  _ As he finally climbs into the car, maneuvering the snack pile that Yunho has cast onto the floor, he gives a two-fingered salute to his grandparents. They call their goodbyes, probably driving the neighbors right up the wall, before pulling away from the curb. 

Halfway into the car ride, Hongjoong pesters him repeatedly about some new phone game. The group bursts into loud laughter as San, finally reaching his limit the moment the red head snatches one of his headphones, threatens to throw the older man’s cell out of the open window. Hongjoong squeaks in response and shoves the earbud back into place quickly. 

San takes a bite out of a nearby chocolate bar just as Yunho catches his eye. Immediately, he senses his friend’s mood change into something mischievous just through the brief look. Before he can pretend that they did not interact, Yunho is yanking his headphones out of his audio jack.  _ Wonderful _ . For a brief moment, Lana Del Ray’s voice sings through the air as San scrambles to mute the audio.

“Nice song choice,” Yunho grins, his teeth annoyingly white. “I have a game.” San groans, rolling his eyes dramatically, and hopes that his disinterest comes across strong enough. It takes everything he has to not succumb to the car sickness that has been threatening to surface for the last thirty minutes. A game is going to just amplify the pounding headache, but Mingi stares at his boyfriend with wide eyes. 

“Okay, shoot then.” 

Yunho shakes his head; his smile growing exponentially more wicked. “Oh no, dear Sannie,” For a second, San considers sticking his head out the window just to ignore the situation. A horror movie from weeks ago sticks out in his mind, however, and he reconsiders the thought with a quick flip of his stomach.  _ At least he doesn’t have a peanut allergy.  _ Yunho obviously does not sense his sudden distraction, however, as he pushes on, “I want to talk about the risks first.”

“How does that make any sense? I can’t prepare myself for how bad this is going to be if you don’t–”

“Listen,” Yunho chuckles, “Loser gives their phone to the winner and has to let them send a text to anyone in their contacts.” He holds up his own cell phone; waving it around the space. Mingi lets out a belted laugh from his seat, red hair messy as he throws back his head. From the front seat, he hears Hongjoong mumble something about it depending on the game, while Seonghwa immediately declines. 

“I have so much respect for all of you,” The oldest says, watching the road for their exit. “But no one in this car has permission to even look at my phone aside from Hongjoong.” Yunho yells indignantly, his hands flying up into the air fast enough to accidentally smack Mingi. 

San sighs, “Is this targeting? Are you targeting me?” He pouts quietly as Yunho pleads with silent puppy eyes. “Fine, whatever. What are the rules?”

Mingi claps excitedly as his boyfriend spirals into some long winded explanation. The general gist San picks up is that someone controls the AUX cord long enough to pick a song. The person operating the music will pause it randomly and the group has to figure out the lyrics that come next. It’s easy, but the one whose phone is currently connected to the radio is Hongjoong, meaning the selection was a mixed bag. It’s worse when the older redhead winks in the direction of the back seat as he passes his phone to Yunho. 

“Hwa and I just got an unlimited data plan  _ and  _ I have Spotify Premium. So really, the world is your oyster.” He thinks for a moment. “Just don’t mess up my daily mixes too much. Also, my mom has me on there so don’t play anything too weird.”

From his spot, Mingi leans forward until his elbows rest on his knees. A wicked grin crosses his face. “So, SexyBack by Justin Timberlake is off limits?” Hongjoong laughs at the question, shaking his head quickly. 

“Of course not, I’m not a monster. SexyBack is a top quality bop and even my mother knows that.” As he speaks, Yunho scrolls through his Spotify library with a bewildered expression. “What? Why does your face look like that?”

Yunho gasps, a hand covering his heart as though he was shot. “I will have you know, this is just my face.” Grinning, he holds Hongjoong’s phone out to face him. “But I do want to know why you have a playlist of only Brittney Spears and Lady GaGa remixes.” Hongjoong rolls his eyes, but doesn’t respond. Instead, Seonghwa brightens with the statement.

“It’s because that’s the only thing he’ll listen to in the shower when he’s drunk.” The oldest says, a smile gracing his lips, as Yunho guffaws. “I’m serious, that waterproof bluetooth speaker that you guys bought him for Christmas? It’s being put to use.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s good use,” Mingi remarks; his hands spread in a jazzy gesture. From the passenger seat, Hongjoong squeaks. His small frame whips back around to face forward. “Hyung, I’m serious. At least tell me that you have Toxic on there.” 

San, finally giving into the group’s energy despite the occasional cramping in his stomach, whispers, “If he doesn’t have Toxic, he is even a real bisexual?” The boys burst into laughter again, much to the older redhead’s dismay, just as Yunho finally picks his song. Through the radio speakers, a quiet beat builds. 

_ “It took too long, it took too long, it took too long for you to call back. And normally, I would just forget that. Except for the fact it was my birthday- My stupid birthday…”  _ Yunho pauses the song immediately, smiling with the brilliance of the moon and all her stars, before the group bursts into wild yelling. Yunho shushes them all and points to his boyfriend, instructing him to go first.

“Shit, it’s-“ Mingi pauses, a frustrated frown popping onto his face. “Oh my god, I know this.” Yunho laughs as San flails wildly next to them. The brunette points to the younger man.

“I played along, I played along, I played along; rolled right off my back, but obviously my armor was cracked,” San rushes out, staring directly at the pouting redhead. “Ha!” From the front seat, Hongjoong groans. 

“I didn’t even get a chance!” 

“Think faster, nerd.” The phone is passed to Mingi, who fiddles with it until Shakira’s “She-Wolf” blasts over the speakers. The group divulges into a screaming match once again, and suddenly, San does not feel any of the worry that held his heart in a vice grip only hours earlier. 

By the time the game dwindles to a close as they approach Seoul, he also realizes that the apprehension he felt before has dissipated. The waters that submerged him so deeply have parted just enough for him to spring from their abyss. Even as Yunho declares San the loser, he does not mind much as he passes his phone to the grinning brunette. 

“So, what are you going to text Wooyoung?” 

Yunho gasps, placing a hand over his heart. “My dearest Sannie, why would you  _ ever  _ assume that I’m going to text your Wooyoungie?” The nickname makes San breathe in sharply. He shakes his head and waves the taller man off.

“Because I know you.” Yunho doesn’t look up as a smirk plasters itself on his puppy-eyed face. His fingers tap diligently on San’s messaging keyboard until he swivels the phone for Mingi and Hongjoong to read. Seonghwa, unable to look at the screen with his eyes dedicated to the road, leans close to Hongjoong. His boyfriend relays the text with a delicate whisper. “Show me,” San whines, squirming until Yunho tosses the cell back. The message is short and sweet, but that doesn’t make the phrasing any less embarrassing.

**To:** **_Woo_ **

_ Hey cutie (; wanna grab din tonight? unless you wanna skip it and go straight for dessert _

“Yunho! Oh my god,” San squawks, his voice three octaves above average. In the rearview mirror, he catches a glimpse of his burning cheeks. “Why would you say that?” Frantically, he writes out another message to send in rapid succession. The phone dings with a notification just as his fingers press ‘send’.

**To:** **_Woo_ **

_ I’m so sorry, I lost a car game. That was Yunho ;~; _

**From:** **_Woo_ **

_ you know i’m always interested ((; _

**From:** **_Woo_ **

_ Oh. Sorry.  _

**To:** **_Woo_ **

_ wait,,, no please,, go to dinner with me tonight? like we actually talked about? _

**From:** **_Woo_ **

_ like a date or?? just fun?? _

**To:** **_Woo_ **

_ depends (: meet me at my apartment at 6? _

**From:** **_Woo_ **

_ thought you’d never ask <3 _

Mingi’s voice breaks him out of his ecstatic thoughts, “Why is your face doing that?” He asks. San looks up from the screen long enough to cock an eyebrow at the angel. As far as he was concerned, the most he was doing was blushing.

“Doing what?”

“You’re  _ smiling,  _ San. You lost the game, but you’re smirking like you got exactly what you wanted,” Hongjoong says, resting his chin on his folded arms. “It’s weird.”

San rolls his eyes. “You’re weird.” Hongjoong immediately sticks his tongue out as San continues. “I got a date. With Wooyoung. Tonight.”

“You mean I got you a date with Wooyoung tonight.” Yunho says, batting his warm eyes as though that will make San give into agreeing. When the other brunette stays quiet, Yunho flails. “Sannie! I got you a date!”

"I got my own date, you dweeb!” 

As the two bucker, Seonghwa’s tired sigh wobbles out from the driver’s seat, “Children, please.” He shakes his head softly. “How about we agree that you both helped get San a date?” Hongjoong chuckles, resting his head against the oldest’s shoulder. 

“You sound like an exhausted mother. Is this how it’s going to be when we have kids?” The car swerves violently to the right. Each member inside screams just as Seonghwa rights the vehicle into the appropriate lane. His dark eyes are wide and round as they meet Hongjoong’s in the mirror. The panic on the angel’s face makes San snort. Hongjoong pouts slightly. “Bad time to bring up kids?”

Seonghwa’s face heats up significantly; a red tint coating his cheeks. Even his ears light up with the bright flush. Instead of responding, he shakes his head silently and reaches for Hongjoong’s delicate hand. Along his knuckles, he presses a few light kisses before dropping it back into his lap. Hongjoong immediately moves it to wrap around the older’s bicep. For a moment, San’s heart flutters like pixie wings as he takes in the tender scene. Seonghwa is everything Hongjoong ever needed. A sense of home and belonging for his best friend. For both of his best friends.

His gaze flickers to Yunho and Mingi, who sit with their thighs pressed close together. Mingi’s arm is slung around the brunette’s shoulders, his face resting against the window. Yunho glances in San’s direction and offers him a double thumbs up. He can’t help but grin as he leans back into his seat once more. How could he have ever doubted angels? When he thinks about it, they’ve never been great at hiding it. He was just too stubborn to truly see the world for what it was.

⋆⋆⋆

As the door to his apartment creaks open, Byeol greets him with a long stretch. Her blue eyes glittering, she stares at him with childish longing before he finally throws his bags down and scoops her up into his arms. Her gentle purr rumbles through her small form, vibrating against his chest. Carefully, he nuzzles his face in the fur of her thick sides.

“Hello, my love.” He presses a kiss to the flat top of her forehead, his nose just barely grazing the divet of her ear, and rights her so that her tiny paws settle perfectly on the floor. Once she’s stable enough for him to let go, he shuffles back to his discarded bags. As he tries to move through the living room, the ball of love follows him with every step. Her lithe form weaves between his legs; a catastrophe waiting to happen. The clock has only just hit three o’clock, but he knows better than to dive into anything too distracting. Instead, he opts to send his neighbor a thank you for taking care of his furry daughter and begins to unpack the various meals his grandmother sent home with him.

Just as he slides the final container of whatever noodle prep she shoved together into the fridge, his phone dings from the counter. Wooyoung’s name flickers across the screen as San unlocks it quickly. An icy chill races down his spine. _ Is he cancelling?  _ The fear dissipates immediately when the blonde’s smiling face appears in his messages. Or the once blonde. Instead, Wooyoung’s lavender sheen had been replaced with dark dye. The color is stunning on his golden skin and San feels his heart leap into his throat as he finally reads the caption.

**From:** **_Woo_ **

_ Didn’t want you to think some stranger was showing up for dinner :P _

The thought makes San laugh quietly. As if he would not recognize the younger man and his ethereal beauty. It would take a hell of a change to make that happen. His thumbs press along the screen, tapping out a quick response, while he pushes the fridge door shut with a well-aimed swing of his hip. 

**To:** **_Woo_ **

_ sorry- who is this? _

**From** **_: Woo_ **

)):

**To:** **_Woo_ **

_ (: you look great, i cant wait to see it in person <3 _

He considers, for the briefest moment, snapping a selfie and attaching it to the reply. Instead, he opts to click ‘send’ and slide the cell to the far end of the counter. A glance around the apartment suddenly makes him realize one thing: he has not cleaned in weeks. Sprinting around the small space like a chicken with his head cut off, he tosses dirty t-shirt after dirty t-shirt into his clothing hamper.  _ Who let it get this bad?  _ Part of him knows exactly who, rather what, let it get to be such an issue. However, in the present, it could not matter less. 

By the time the apartment is clean enough for another human to see it, he cringes at the thought of his neighbor having to wade through the mess, San is exhausted and covered in a thin layer of sweat. Sprawled on the newly vacuumed floor, his heart races. The weekend back in his hometown did not feel real. The last hour doesn’t even feel like it passed, and yet, the clock still glows with an angry red ‘4:45pm’. Rolling his eyes, he lifts his body from the prickly white carpet. If the sweat wasn’t an indicator that he was in desperate need for a shower, the way the carpet texture sticks to his moist skin definitely is.  _ Moist _ ? The word makes his body convulse in repulsion as he scrambles off to the bathroom quickly. 

Water pools in the dips of his collarbones like puddles in the unmended sidewalk outside of the bar. It does not pick up the red light of his pattering thoughts the way they do. Nor does it smell like acid and alcohol. It tethers him to the present and the slow drain of the hourglass sand as he thinks, for the first time, about the glimmering future. He thinks, for the first time, not of a glowing exit sign, but the carved marble entrance into the world that he always tried to craft for himself. 

Tossing his head back until the cool tile behind him presses against his slick hair, the air feels fresher than it has in years. The vice grip pulling him beneath the pavement finally loose enough for him to pull the majority of his body free. It will not be instant; the relief. The healing. Even the blurry glance down at his soft thighs shows him that. Puckered white lines, some thin like paper, while others the exact patterning of tiger stripes, cover the flesh like a morbid design. Slow to mend, but quick to create. Their ages varied, but the sentiment had always remained the same. It was a distraction. A silencing act to smother the constant cacophony that buzzed in his mind when the world pushed him beneath the bark and leaves of forgotten trees. The spark of pain, searing for seconds before dull and thrumming against the denim of his jeans in the afterhours.

His gaze snaps away from the scars without a passing thought. The markings on his body did not make him any less human; any less him. He was flesh and bone; a soul, a heart, and a mind. He was Choi San. And frankly, he would be damned if he left a damn blade come between him and safety again. 

He flips the metal shower handle until the water turns off. Immediately, the air conditioning’s soft kiss caresses his bare skin; sending a shiver down his spine. He tugs a towel from the rack, wrapping it loosely around his hips, and steps onto the cushy bath mat. A glance in the mirror shows him someone he can hardly recognize. Hollow cheekbones and darkened circles. Even his skin holds a dim glow, not even close to his usual sparkle, and for a second, his breath catches in his throat. Stepping forward, though, only one sentence crosses his lips as he wanders in the direction of his wardrobe.

“I’m going to smash so much food tonight.” 

⋆⋆⋆

Wooyoung’s entrance is lack-luster. Rather than the firework display San had forced himself into expecting, he opens the door to the beautiful, dark-haired man leaning against the frame with a dainty pout. The younger’s hair wafts the delicate scent of hair color directly into San’s senses as he pulls him into a tight hug. Even when Wooyoung plants a tender kiss on his jaw before moving further into the apartment, the fireworks don’t start. Instead, the ember that had settled in his chest ignites into a full-on flame once more. It burns with desire. 

Not the desire for sex or physical touch, but the closeness of the younger on the couch. His laughter as they eat some silly take-out from nearby. His smile as they watch a movie or play a video game, or God, he just wants to be near Wooyoung. The man in question glances back at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“You alright, San?” He takes a few cautious steps back to San’s side. The older’s hands itch at his sides. They scream for the contact of Wooyoung’s waist, to pull him close again and not let him go until he knows for sure just who this man is to him. Or even just who he is in general. San nods, a lazy smile drifting onto his lips. Wooyoung returns the look with a genuine beam. God, San could just stare at him forever.

“I’m perfect,” San whispers. “Do you wanna just get takeout instead?” Maybe, it’s selfish; to invite Wooyoung all the way to his apartment, promising a meal, and instead gift him with take-out. Maybe it is. But for once, he wants to be. And the fresh brunette’s grin only grows at the suggestion. His arms winding around San’s waist, he pulls him into a hug. It’s brief, but San’s heart flutters like a teenager’s when the slightly smaller man peers up at him through thick lashes.  _ Should I kiss him? Is he going to kiss me? _ He knows that such a simple action has already been passed between the two of them; that and so much more on a night he has no recollection of. But that won’t stop him from really understanding it now. The stupid ember that sits within his beating heart. Even as Wooyoung lets go and does not push their lips together, he knows what the fire burning within is telling him. It cries maybes like a ballad forgotten by stranded sailors caught in a raging storm.

Maybe, he loves Wooyoung as the man quietly asks, “Wanna get pizza and play Mario Kart?” Maybe, he loves him when they curl up together on the couch, Byeol’s paws kneading their touching thighs into her liking. Maybe, he loves Wooyoung when the man leans his head against San’s shoulder halfway through Rainbow Road, almost dozing off. But in particular, maybe he loves Wooyoung as the voice that has warned him of two dangers does not scream its final warning. 

Instead, the imagery flashing through his mind is vivid. Roses and rings. Rooftops and rain. The floor, a key, a blade, and a mirror. When he meets the reflection’s gaze, it is not his own. Wooyoung’s wide eyes brim with salty tears. A stray runs down the mole on his cheek just as the warning, soft and hardly more than a whisper, surfaces from the younger’s lips. 

_ “Don’t fall in love.” _

__ Maybe, it’s too late for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, loves! I hope this chapter makes up for the lack of WooSan in the last one. Sorry it's a little short! I didn't want to push into the next arc too quickly. We're getting into the fun stuff now. Yeosang and Jongho will be here soon too, they were supposed to come earlier, but I am a fool.
> 
> As always find me on Twitter, CuriousCat, and Insta: @KyojinOuji  
> I love new mutuals and always follow back. You can totally message me about whatever; it doesn't even have to be Ateez or fic related!  
> Cheers and see y'all in a few days!


	5. scorton's creek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Brief smut; marked with "✦✧✦" and "✧✦✧" before and after the section if you would like to skip it. TLDR will be at the end of the chapter for that bit.

> _ “I don’t wanna say goodbye. _
> 
> _ I fear you love somebody else, _
> 
> _ But there's no way that you can control how you feel. _
> 
> _ So, I’ll just have to learn between what's fake and real. _
> 
> _ Love you; I don't care, I don't care as long as I can hold you.” _
> 
> **_scorton’s creek -_ ** _ Isaac Dunbar _

* * *

True warmth is something you learn. It’s different from simulated heat through furnaces and blankets. It’s the gentle caress of the sun’s rays over sensitive skin. The tingling of taste buds as hot chocolate pools on your tongue. The baked sand beneath bare toes. Warmth is the comforting embrace at the end of a long work day. And right now, it is the tight hold around San’s stomach as he tries to pry himself out of the cushiony bed. 

Beside him, Wooyoung whines dramatically and pulls him back until his back presses against the other man’s chest. With a soft laugh, San wiggles until he is face-to-face with deep brown eyes. His voice still honey-laden with sleep, he mumbles, “You know, I can’t make breakfast if you don’t let go, Woo.” He knows that he is smiling. How can he not? He had expected Wooyoung to leave during the night. He had expected him to realize that he stayed accidentally, having fallen asleep while they played video games, and to have scurried off to his own apartment. It caught him off guard when his eyes cracked open to the dark-haired, cuddle-bug twining their limbs together.

“‘M tired,” Wooyoung grumbles into the fleece of his hoodie. “Sleep more, then let’s go out for breakfast.” San chuckles again and presses a soft kiss to the smaller man’s forehead. He pretends to ignore the way Wooyoung’s breath hitches with the action; pretends that the reaction doesn’t sink the hot-air balloon that is his heart.  _ Don’t fall in love.  _ The warning rings out loud and clear, but San mentally smothers it with a cotton-stuffed pillow. 

“We can,” San says, once again rolling until Wooyoung finally lets him go. “But you need other clothes. Don’t you work today?” He pulls the blankets off of the brunette quickly, hoping the chilled air will make him move faster, but instead Wooyoung curls into a tight ball with an irritated whimper. “Do you want food or not?”

“What I want,” Wooyoung complains, “is to go back to sleep.” San laughs again, shuffling over to his open closet to riffle through the clothing. The room falls into comfortable silence as he finally decides on a simple red t-shirt and jeans. Just as he pulls his pajama top off, he glances back to see the brunette’s eyes peering at him from beneath his arm. San, not one to avoid an opportunity to flirt, opens his mouth to lay some pick-up line on thick. The words don’t leave his mouth by the time Wooyoung is already speaking. “Can I borrow something to wear?”

San’s heart pitters quickly at the suggestion of the other man in his clothes. It wouldn’t be the first time, not since he stayed in the apartment before, but it meant something different. This time, they had planned to spend time together. To eat dinner and play video games and just embrace whatever domestic relationship they had begun to build. Friendship with something more. Instead of stumbling further into whatever direction his thoughts were going, San casts a grin towards the sleepy boy with a wink. “Careful, Woo. People might start getting the wrong idea about us.” 

Wooyoung rolls his eyes with a groan at the insinuation. Grumbling, he forces himself into an upright position. “People already have the wrong idea about us, you dork.” San’s eyes grow into saucers as Wooyoung slaps a palm over his ‘o’-shaped mouth. “I mean,” He stumbles for an explanation before sighing. “No, you know what, fuck it. Yeah, Yeosang and Jongho won’t get off of my back about you.”

“What exactly have you told them about me?” San asks, his voice teetering into the deeper end of the spectrum. He told his own friends about Wooyoung. Frankly, Mingi had met the man. So, why did it feel so different to know that Wooyoung had done the same?

Wooyoung rubs his eyes with a yawn. His voice is quiet– shy, San realizes– as he finally comes clean. “I might have mentioned the cute guy I tried taking home twice named San. I definitely told them about Byeol.” San raises an eyebrow at the mention of his cat. “What? She’s easily in my top 5 favorite living things,” Wooyoung pouts; his arms pulling tight to his chest.

“Do your friends know that we didn’t...you know?” 

Wooyoung tilts his head mischievously, a twinkle growing in his warm brown eyes. “That we didn’t…?” 

San coughs, the admission on the tip of his tongue. It’s difficult to say for some reason. He is not embarrassed, not really, but he definitely wishes that he could say that they have slept together. That he knows Wooyoung that intimately. Instead, he mumbles the words. 

Wooyoung, apparently beyond amused, inches to the edge of the mattress. “Speak up, Sannie.” When San buries his face into the palms of his hands, the other brunette giggles. He fucking  _ giggles _ at San’s obvious misery. “Sannie, what did we not do?” It’s a song. An absolutely irritating song, but Wooyoung knows that. 

“We didn’t...you know.” 

“No, I don’t know.” San squeaks out something muffled as Wooyoung wraps his arms around his waist. He gives a gentle tug and pulls San’s back to his chest. “Use your big boy words, San.”

“We didn’t have sex, okay?” San yelps. “Fuck, tango in the sheets, do the nasty,” Wooyoung guffaws as the other man continues to list off every term he can think of. Somehow, by the time it's over, Wooyoung has pulled him down to sit beside him on the mattress. “Why is it so hard to talk about?” 

The younger man hums and presses his thumbs into San’s shoulder blades; offering a brief massage. “Because it’s daylight and we’re both sober,” he says, tugging San’s chin gently until their foreheads rest together. “You know, I’m never against it, right?” There’s a dangerous glint to Wooyoung’s expression. Something that makes San want to push the conversation further, but at the same time, steer it into another direction immediately. 

San nods, taking in the way Wooyoung’s thick eyelashes stand out brilliantly against the golden tone of his skin. Maybe, that is all the encouragement he needs. Or it’s the way the other’s pouty lips draw his attention. But whatever is in the air gives him the courage to finally ask what he has been meaning to for weeks. His voice, glassy and delicate, comes out as a whisper, “Can I kiss you?”

Wooyoung smiles, a gentle blush coloring his cheeks, as he finally says, “Of course.” It’s all San needs to press a tender kiss to the other man’s lips. It’s soft, apprehensive, and blooms carnations with every subtle movement. Wooyoung tastes like cherry chapstick and brown sugar; morning dew and stormy mist. Against San, he moves like a shrouded mystery, but also an open book of desire and want.  _ Don’t fall in love. _

The brunette sighs against his lips; pulling him closer as he wraps his arms around San’s neck. The way they fall backward onto the bed is not graceful. It’s clumsy and unplanned, but neither seem to care as they focus instead on the way they work together. San’s hands slide into the soft hair at the base of Wooyoung’s neck, making the other gasp quietly, before he does the same to the older. In the back of his mind, San knows he should stop. He should tell Wooyoung the truth and accept whatever he tells him. That he should explain why ‘friends with benefits’ will do nothing but make him fall helplessly. But as the other man separates them, his eyes glazed over with something sultry, he can’t bring himself to speak; let alone carve out his bleeding heart and hand it over on a silver platter.

✦✧✦  “What are we doing?” Wooyoung asks, baring his neck. San leans down, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the flesh before sucking the spot gently. “Fuck.” He keens as his hips roll up just enough to graze San’s crotch. An embarrassing groan escapes his throat with the contact; face burning crimson. What was he– a highschooler? The shame does not stay long as Wooyoung pulls him back to his lips. He nibbles on San’s bottom lip, asking for permission to enter, and the older obeys almost immediately. His tongue swirls along the roof of his mouth; tingling the nerves with each swipe. 

San pulls back, realizing that Wooyoung’s question still hung unanswered in the air between them. As he sizes up the debauched man beneath him, the thought of confessing the truth flees entirely. With a grin, San leans down to whisper into Wooyoung’s ear, “I could suck you off.” At the suggestion, the other man wriggles beneath him. Encouraged by the response, he carefully moves to position himself between Wooyoung’s thighs. “I need verbal consent, babe.” 

“Fuck,” Wooyoung whimpers, rolling his hips again in search of friction. “Yeah, please, God.” San pulls the man’s sweatpants down just enough that the bulk of his boxers is visible. Gently, he presses a kiss to his stomach; just above the waistband of the thin material. “San, please hurry up.”

“I’m savoring the moment.” Wooyoung groans again, this time the frustration leaking into his tone, and curses under his breath. A devilish look crosses San’s face as he teases tugging the waistband any lower. When he lets it go with a snap, the other brunette shrieks and thrashes beneath him. 

“Choi San,” Wooyoung’s voice is high and needy, “If you don’t put your mouth on my dick in the next ten seconds, I’ll do it myself. I swear to God–” He lets out a guttural sound as San pulls the material down with one quick movement. As the cold air hits Wooyoung’s bare lower half, he sucks in a desperate breath. San grins at him before lapping a stripe along the underside of his length. The other man tenses immediately, reaching behind his head to cling to the comforter. “Fuck.” 

San swirls his tongue along the head of Wooyoung’s cock, batting his eyelashes just enough to make the brunette blush harder, before finally taking the entire thing into his mouth. He had the unfortunate experience of being born with a gag reflex, but wrapping his fingers tightly around his thumb manages to push back the urge to choke for the time being. By the look on Wooyoung’s face, it doesn’t seem like it will take long at all to push him completely over the edge. At the thought of the younger coming apart completely beneath him, San hums softly. The sensation, apparently quite appreciated by the other, has Wooyoung throwing his head back further. San struggles to hold the man’s thighs still as his back arches gracefully off the mattress. From his mouth spills a slew of curses and compliments; loud enough to make San’s neighbors hate him for the next week. 

Hollowing his cheeks out enough to encase Wooyoung tightly in the warm, wet heat, he drags his tongue along the bottom of the cock. It takes a few seconds to set some kind of rhythm, but by the time San’s head is bobbing along the other man’s length, Wooyoung has dug his fingers into his hair. He uses the dark strands as leverage to hold San in place just where he wants him; concentrating the most effort on the head’s slit. When he finally lets him move up and down the shaft again, San feels the tight pressure within his own pants. This wasn’t about him though. He wanted nothing more than to pleasure Wooyoung in this moment alone. By the time Wooyoung’s whole frame is shaking, San’s lips feel absolutely puffy. Tears run down the corners of his eyes, and when the younger catches sight of his wrecked form, he whines loudly. 

“Fuck, San, off. I’m gonna–” He chokes out, squirming with all of the ability he has. San, however, has other plans as he continues to hold the other man still. With another cry, Wooyoung releases down his throat. The warmth spills into his mouth and he struggles to swallow it down. His gag reflex only now threatening to take control of him again. Biting back the urge to spit everything out, he lifts his gaze until he meets the teary stare of Wooyoung. “Why are you so beautiful?” The other brunette crashes their lips together, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of his high, and starts to pull down San’s sweatpants.

“Woo-” San starts to complain, but the other man smiles into their kiss. His heart flutters awkwardly. He just sucked this man’s dick, and apparently the other is determined to repay him, but he can’t break from the thoughts of moonlit picnics and cafe dates. The romance of everything that is not quick and dirty. Even with Wooyoung’s release fresh in his throat, he still can’t help but want more. Not the sex, but the hand-holding and chocolate giving. “You don’t have to.”

Wooyoung frowns and presses a quick kiss to San’s nose before drawing his attention lower. “I want to,” He says. “It’s the benefit part of our relationship, remember?” The words tug painfully at San’s heartstrings. Even as Wooyoung’s mouth presses against his hard dick, he struggles with the concept. Fingers fumbling for the other man’s dark strands, he tries to calm the ache beneath his ribs. The wilting roses that want nothing more to spring free and blossom for all to see. 

“Well,” San pants, “it’s the first time we’re getting to the benefits. I didn’t know what to expect.” The words turn up significantly as he can’t fight back the moan the crawls from his throat. Wooyoung smiles–  _ seriously, who smiles while sucking another man off _ ?– and pulls off with a pop. He winks at San.

“The friend part comes first, but since we’re both in a decent enough headspace,” Wooyoung’s sentence grows muffled as he kitten-licks the tip. San whimpers at the sensation. Within seconds, he is warning Wooyoung of his approaching orgasm, but the other does not budge. Instead, he sucks him off to completion and smiles wildly when the white liquid runs from the corner of his mouth as he swallows it down. As San’s body shakes, Wooyoung presses a filthy, open-mouthed kiss against his lips. They add a shower to their to-do list.  _ Don’t fall in love.  _

✧✦✧

When they stumble into the not-so-crowded space of the small, American-style diner, the last thing San expects is for Wooyoung to come to an abrupt stop as they’re being led to their table. After slamming into the smaller man’s back, he sputters for a second. Wooyoung mumbles a quiet apology, hands resting on San’s waist to steady him, and glances backwards to a table of two men. A blonde man with perfect eyebrows and an angelic face rests his head on his folded arms while the other, a muscular brunette, gestures wildly around. They’re oddly familiar, but deep in some conversation and obviously not paying attention to the newcomers. However, that does not stop Wooyoung from trying to tiptoe behind San as they follow the waitress. 

“Why are we sneaking around?” San whispers as they settle into their seats. The waitress passes them two menus and takes their drink orders before scampering off. Wooyoung, on the other hand, looks as though he wishes he could do the same. “Woo, seriously, what’s up?” 

“They’re my friends.” The admission hits San like a brick. Yeosang and Jongho. “I sort of didn’t tell them where I was this morning.” He offers San a sheepish smile, a warm flush covering his face and neck. In dips into the grey sweater he borrowed from the older and disappears beneath the neckline. From experience, though, San knows what it looks like covering his shoulders. 

San chuckles quietly, a grin playing at the corners of his lips. For the second time in that morning, he can’t help but feel like a teenager again. Sneaking around town? They’re adults. Yet, he understands exactly why Wooyoung would want to keep this a secret, especially as he accidentally catches the gaze of the angelic blonde from across the restaurant. _Oh no._  
The look he gets in return is something of slow recognition. He glances over San’s figure once, his gaze flickering to the back of Wooyoung’s head, before giving San a double-take. Suddenly, his mouth pops into a delicate, pink ‘o’ and his eyes grow wide. San, struggling to give Wooyoung a proper warning, can only manage to stutter, “Code red,” as the blonde begins to whack the dark-haired man’s arm. Wooyoung seems to sense what is coming before the other two race over. Once again, he gives San an embarrassed smile, just as the brunette slaps a hand against the back of his neck. It reminds him of a mother cat grabbing a kitten by its scruff; especially with the way Wooyoung tenses under the touch. 

“Jung Wooyoung,” The blonde begins, an impish look masquerading over his otherwise celestial features. “I thought you said you overslept and couldn’t grab breakfast.” His voice is much deeper than San expected. He knows for a fact he has spoken to the man while taking his drink orders at the bar, but the molasses melody never processed against Hongjoong’s loud remixes. “Obviously, here you are. Getting breakfast. With someone that isn’t me.” Each portion of the sentence clunks out of his mouth like capsules from a coin-operated gacha. 

“Sangie! Jongho! So weird seeing you guys here on a Monday morning,” Wooyoung says, turning in his seat to face the others. “Isn’t it so funny that we’re all here? Right now? At the exact same time?” 

“Shut up, asshole.” Yeosang throws himself into the open seat next to San. The irritated expression falls off of his face quickly, replaced by something more reserved, but genuine. He holds out a cautious hand and cocks his head. “You must be San. We’ve never formally met, but trust me, Wooyoung doesn’t stop talking about you. Or just talking in general.” San takes the other’s palm in a handshake; nodding slowly.

“And I’m guessing you’re the best friend? Yeosang?” San asks, his gaze flickering to Jongho as he shifts into the empty seat beside Wooyoung. The blonde bobs his head, expression softening slightly, as he finally releases San’s fingers. “Wooyoung talks about you all of the time.”

Across the table, Wooyoung groans and shoves his head into his hands. Mumbling into his arms, the group can’t catch a single thing he utters. Evidently used to it, Jongho cuffs him on the back of his head, eliciting a sharp yelp from the other man. Jongho rolls his eyes and says, “Use your words, Woo.” 

“I said,” Wooyoung begins, “That I wanted to have breakfast with San.” He narrows his eyes at his friends, sticking his tongue out. “Now, I have to put up with three gremlins instead of just one?” The other three men all respond with indignant yells. San casually slips his hand into Wooyoung’s beneath the table; not thinking much of the action. Yeosang, however, squints with the contact. 

Just as San takes a sip of his soda, the blonde speaks, “So, you two finally had sex?” Within seconds, the table is covered in a layer of the sugary drink. San coughs into his arm as Jongho dramatically smacks his back. Before either is able to respond, Jongho lets out a bark of laughter and indiscreetly fistbumps the blonde, who continues uphased. “Just saying. You seem cozy.” His words come with an unturned smirk. By the time San’s choking fit subsides, Wooyoung is already stumbling through an explanation. 

“What does it matter to you, Sangie? You jealous?”

Yeosang’s grin widens as he grabs Wooyoung’s drink and takes a long sip. “Just making sure my best friend is getting his needs taken care of,” he says playfully. Even so, Wooyoung fidgets as the words hit the air. For a second, San can’t help but wonder if the younger man is keeping something from him. “We aren’t gonna keep you guys long. I just wanted to meet the only person Wooyoung has talked about for weeks.” Despite the blonde’s composed demeanor, beneath the surface, San can tell he would not want to be on the man’s bad side. 

As the two stand up from the table, Jongho pats San on the back. “We’ll probably see you again soon.” The brunette offers him a gummy smile as Yeosang wanders back to their table. “I promise he’s all bark and very little bite.” There’s an innuendo thrown into the statement, San realizes, as the man passes Yeosang and squeezes his ass. So, he wasn’t the only one stuck in a group of couples. 

Wooyoung’s face burns bright up to his ears as he slams it against the table. “Woo! Holy shit,” San yelps, scrambling to settle their teetering drinks. “Are you okay?” The boy groans, shaking his head, and reaches blindly for San’s hand. As their fingers intertwine, the dandelion blooming from the cracks in San’s concrete heart turns its head toward the sun.  _ Don’t fall in love. _

“I’m sorry,” Wooyoung mumbles, “This isn’t how I was going to introduce you to them.”

San pauses, realizing that it wasn’t him that embarrassed the younger man. He hums softly; rubbing small circles into the back of the other’s hand. “Not a big deal,” he says, “Honestly, I’m just glad to place faces to their names.” Wooyoung lifts his head from the chilled surface of the diner table. 

“You sure?” It comes out as a whisper. As though he is afraid of San snapping for some God forsaken reason. The thought alarms him more than anything else. His features must fall into concern as Wooyoung tilts his head further to the side. “You really don’t mind?” 

San laughs and Wooyoung’s hand to his lips. He presses soft kisses along the knuckles; a smile dancing across his face. “Why the hell would I mind? The fact that you were willing to introduce me to them at all is enough for me.” The warmth radiating from Wooyoung’s eyes is enough. Wooyoung is enough. Maybe, San can be too.

Wooyoung doesn’t respond. He looks like he might, for a moment, before the waitress comes back to take their orders. By the time she’s gone, the feeling seems to have passed entirely. Instead, he plays with San’s fingers as the two fall into a casual conversation about work. Eventually, Yeosang and Jongho appear to be getting ready to leave. The blonde meets his gaze and nods in their direction. For a second, San assumes they will just exit quietly. However, within seconds, Yeosang is looming over their table. 

“We’re having a party this Saturday,” He says. “I’m not sure if Wooyoung mentioned it, but you should come by. Bring your friends.” Yeosang smiles gently. “There’s always room for more.” With that, he spins on his heel and grabs Jongho’s hand as they move to pay their bill. San can’t help but smile at the couple. 

Even as their food arrives, Wooyoung appears to have developed the urge to constantly be touching San in some way. As they cut their food, he makes sure his knee is pressing against San’s under the table. While they ask for the check, his fingers trace subtle designs onto the delicate flesh of the older’s wrist. Even as they pay, his hand finds San’s. To anyone on the outside, they would look like any other couple. But San knows better. They’re friends; just friends. With occasional benefits. Their antics early that morning were just part of that relationship. He knows that, but he wants nothing more than to make it mean something else. Anything else. 

Standing outside the restaurant, San finds himself fidgeting awkwardly as Wooyoung quickly sorts through his emails. At first, he thought it was a weird concept for the other twenty-four year old to be dependent on email systems, but considering his career, it did not surprise him. Wooyoung clicks send on another response and shoots him a smile that could rival the brightness of the moon and all her stars. The shorter man wraps his arms around San’s waist, tugging him close, and cocks his head. 

“So, are you going to come?” He asks. For a second, the question lingers in the air as the older wracks his brain for exactly what he was supposed to be attending. Yeosang’s invitation sticks out like a glowing sign and he almost smacks his forehead in response. The idea sounds brilliant, but at the same time, like a danger zone. 

“I don’t think that I have a shift, but–” 

“Then come hang out with us. Or at least me.” Wooyoung pouts, leaning his forehead on San’s shoulder. “I want to spend more time with you.” The comment sends San into a spiral of emotions. The fuzzy feeling in his chest does not subside even when he plants a soft kiss on Wooyoung’s head. 

“Me too.” Wooyoung pulls away with wide eyes. “I want to spend more time with you too, Wooyoung.” Another blinding smile brightens the space between them. 

“So, you’ll be there?” Wooyoung asks, bouncing lightly on his heels, and San, of course, has to say yes. Who could turn him down? He hardly has a second to react before Wooyoung is pressing a kiss directly against his lips and jogging down the sidewalk with a distant, “I’ll text you tonight!” As the other man rounds the corner, San continues to stare dumbly after his disappearing form. PDA wasn’t a usual part of the relationship the two had agreed to have, was it? Really, was any part of what they had been doing partial to friends with benefits? Instead of pushing the wooden stake of thoughts further into his bleeding heart, he chooses to turn back in the direction of his apartment and head home. Some things are better left unanswered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TLDR for smut: San and Wooyoung finally take each other up on friends-with-benefits. San realizes that he has a lot more feelings that he really wants and is afraid of having an only sexual relationship with Wooyoung.
> 
> Hello, loves! Finally making use of all of my tags. Thank you all for reading! The main eight have now been introduced (I'm sorry Jongsang shippers,,,I love these nerds, but I'm always terrified to write them bc I want to do them justice.) Anyways, we're almost done. The next two chapters are going to be very intense and dark. Please listen to the tags and TW at the beginning of chapters. My goal is to keep you all happy and safe.
> 
> Find me on Twitter, CuriousCat, and Instagram as: @KyojinOuji   
> (I always follow back and love new moots! Plus, you get an inside look at whatever I'm working on.)
> 
> Cheers and see you all in a few days!


	6. Thin White Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: HEAVY SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, ACTIONS, AND THEMES. // Detailed self-harm, depression, suicide, and toxicity are all present in this.   
> Smut is marked with "✦✧✦" and "✧✦✧" before and after the section if you would like to skip it, and while decently brief, there is a bit of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a TLDR available in the end notes for those that are triggered by the material included in this chapter. If you would like to continue reading the fic, I would suggest reading the TLDR as the content does play a major role in the future.   
> For those uncomfortable with scrolling to the bottom in case they see any triggering material, feel free to DM me on Twitter: ( @KyojinOuji ) for a run down and I'll be more than happy to tell you!

> _ “Killing me slow with the words you wrote. _
> 
> _ The heart you broke. _
> 
> _ Calling my name, I don't wanna stay, _
> 
> _ But I'm wide awake. _
> 
> _ Thin white lies. _
> 
> _ Just one more taste of you, my love. _
> 
> _ Thin white lies.” _
> 
> **_Thin White Lies_ ** _ \- 5SoS _
> 
> * * *

The aroma of diluted bleach lingers in the air as the washcloth drags along the bar’s wooden surface. Despite the latex gloves acting as a second skin, San’s hands itch with every passing thought. It hadn’t been a busy night, but it definitely was one that made him want to go home, eat an entire bowl of noodles, and crash on the couch until Byeol wakes him up for breakfast. There was nothing stopping him from pretending to finish his job and scooting out of work. However, Mingi’s slumped frame by the soda machine does make him stall his departure. The silence is almost too much to handle and is particularly uncharacteristic for the red head.

His footsteps echo quietly as he marches himself across the black linoleum. Placing a hand on the other man’s shoulder, he leans down to speak just as Mingi jumps a mile into the air and slams his skull against San’s chin. The impact rings through the room with a deafening crack as the older stumbles backwards; clutching his face. “Fuck.” 

“Shit! San, are you okay?” The other asks, his hands frantically moving around the space as he dumps ice into a baggie. “God, why didn’t you tell me you were there?” The taste of iron fills his mouth slowly. Enough so, that he knows smiling is out of the question unless he wants to look like a cheesy vampire from a 2010’s romantic drama. Instead, San sputters trying to piece together a decent response. 

“‘M sorry,” He mumbles, accepting the ice pack that Mingi threw together quickly. “Thought you knew I was still here.” The words come out garbled and almost indecipherable. With each one, the red head buries his face further into his hands. 

Mingi sighs, a crimson glow covering his cheeks, and shakes his head. “Sorry, I knew you didn’t leave yet, but I got lost in my thoughts again.” The angel– God, San will never get used to that– narrows his eyes with concern. “How bad is it?”

“Bloody, not super bad,” San says and shifts his jaw experimentally. Thank god the giant didn’t smack into his nose instead. With that much force, it would have certainly been broken. “What were you thinking about?” He watches as his friend’s expression brightens exponentially. 

Mingi flies through his passcode on his cell and whirls a picture around for the other to see. On the screen, a ring of intertwined silver and gold shines. The band features dozens of little jewels of greens, blues, reds, and yellows. The most noticeable feature, however, is the small golden orb with diamond encrusted wings that sits where a traditional gem would go. A golden snitch. It’s a Harry Potter-themed wedding ring. San chuckles.

“I found it, Sannie. The perfect ring for Yunho.” Mingi is excited and it rubs off like pixie dust on San’s otherwise stormy mood. He pulls the taller man into a tight embrace. “I just need to order it, but I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“What if he says no?” Mingi asks, his form slumping once again. “What if I ask him to spend the rest of his life with me and he tells me that he has other plans? Maybe he has one of those fifteen-year goals he hasn’t told me about. You know, the ones from dramas–”

“Mingi,” San begins, placing both hands on the other man’s cheeks. “I can promise you that you don’t have to worry about that.” He lets go, leaning his weight against the counter instead. “For one, I’m pretty certain your boyfriend doesn’t even plan what he’s wearing until ten minutes before it’s on his body. There’s no way he has a fifteen-year plan he hasn’t told you about.” San tilts his head slightly and offers a smile, albeit probably tinged with blood. “Second of all, it’s Yunho, bud. You could ask him to eat garbage as a date and he would dive right in.” Mingi laughs at the statement; the tension seemingly fleeing from his shoulders. 

He hums quietly and glances back at the ring’s photo. “You’re right. I just always get worried, you know?” Does San know? They’ve only been best friends for almost twenty years. “I haven’t planned anything else about it. Like how I’m going to propose, where I want to take him, what flavor wedding cake we’re going to get–”

“Mingi?” San’s voice is soft as he tugs his friend back to the present. “You’ll get there. Step one is ordering the ring though.” Mingi laughs deeply, shifting his position enough to pull San into a tight hug. “Trust me, bud, he’s going to love it. He loves you.”

“Never thought I would want the ability to see the future back.”

San grins, running his fingers through the redhead’s wavy strands. “Welcome to the real world, kid. You get to live like the rest of us.” San pauses, realizing that this is the first moment he’s had alone with the other since the truth came out. Frowning, he tilts Mingi’s chin up until they meet eyes. “I can’t believe you kept this whole thing a secret for so long, by the way.”

“The proposal? You were the first to know—“

“No,” San interrupts, “the fact that you’re not human and your soulmate is my ex-coworker.”

Mingi pouts with the words, dramatically flipping his short hair. “Technically, I’m still human. Guardians just have access to higher rates of clairvoyance than non-celestials.” He grins at the older, an air of mischievousness crossing his expression. “I almost gave it away once, you know.”

“When?”

“Hongjoong’s birthday last year. When Yunho and I joked about being an angel and demon. We weren’t actually planning on it, but you thought it was hilarious, and we couldn’t explain why it was just a joke.”

San remembers it clearly. Despite Hongjoong’s birthday being the week after Hallowenn, the group always chose to celebrate it at Itaewon’s block party every year. It gave them the opportunity to dress however they wanted and just spent the night unapologetically being themselves. Albeit, dressed as anything but. Most recently, Yunho and Mingi were a devil and angel, Hongjoong and Seonghwa had selected the weirdest vampire pirate mashup San had ever seen, and he chose to play it easy as a sexy cat. Between the lights, music, and far too many drinks, he doesn’t find it hard to believe that he absolutely missed the irony. Even so, he feels his brows furrow in confusion. 

“So, why didn’t you tell me then?” 

Mingi just shrugs and moves to the far end of the counter to resume cleaning. “Too much work. You wouldn’t have believed us anyways, you know.” San rolls his eyes, grabbing a dry cloth from the cabinet behind him to follow Mingi as he moves. He does not, however, resist the urge to twist the terry cloth into a rope and snap the fabric against the younger’s ass. With a yelp, Mingi jolts into the air. “What the fuck!”

“You were being a bitch,” He mumbles, shuffling past the other to pat down the wooden surface of the bar. Mingi whines pathetically. His gaze drifts between the bucket of diluted disinfectant and the wet material in his hand, but before he can enact revenge, San sticks his tongue out and sprints into the office to clock out. 

“Doesn’t mean you have to be a bitch back,” Mingi calls after him. Maybe he would believe the other was actually angry if not for the deep laugh that follows. Grabbing his things, San wanders back into the main room for a second. With a grin, he cocks the swinging door open with his hip. 

“Would a bitch invite you to a party this weekend?”

“A bitch would, yes. Whose party is it?” Mingi asks, pushing past to snap up his own belongings. 

“Wooyoung’s best friends are throwing some rooftop thing on Saturday. They told me to invite a few people, so,” He glances over his shoulder and the other man approaches him again. “Would you and Yunho want to come? I was going to ask Hwa and Joongie too.” 

Mingi hums as a thoughtful look flickers across his face. Watching the smile overtake it is like seeing the sun rise for the first time. All of the signs pointed to this man being celestial and San almost kicks himself for not realizing it before. “Xion and Hwanwoong are on the schedule for Saturday, right? I think we’re both off.” When San nods, Mingi grins wider. “Then, hell yeah.”

Convincing Hongjoong, on the other hand, proved to be more difficult. The next afternoon, the two had promised to grab coffee together. While the older man ordered, San brought up the premise of Yeosang’s get together, only to be rewarded with a grimace. San pouts immediately. 

“What? Do you have a problem with parties now?”

“No,” Hongjoong sighs, handing the cashier his card, “I have a problem with you going to parties. Are you sure you want to after what happened back home?” The cashier passes the plastic back to him along with the thin receipt. The memory of the previous weekend stings in his mind. Thoughts of the burning heap of metal and the smell of gasoline, despite not something he physically experienced, make his stomach churn with acid. He places a hand on the back of his neck and shrugs.

“I can’t let that stop me from living my life.” Hongjoong smiles sympathetically. Beside him, the redhead bounces awkwardly. San watches as he shifts his weight between the balls of his feet to his ankles. It’s a habit that the other had been doing for years, but it never seemed to appear any less uncomfortable even after seeing it hundreds of times. “I appreciate the thought though, Joongie.” Hongjoong hums and pauses gnawing on a hangnail to give San a sheepish shrug.

“Anyways, Hwa and I were planning on just staying home this weekend.”

“Date night?” San asks, approaching the counter as the barista calls his order. “You guys don’t do that much anymore, do you?” Hongjoong shakes his head. A gentle frown pulls at the edges of his sharp expression. 

His drink slides onto the pick-up shelf and he almost leaps at the caffeine. He speaks slowly as he uses his teeth to tear open the paper wrapper of a straw. “Not since he bought the bar, no. It’s been a lot lately, so I never really brought it up to him.” The plastic lid of his iced mocha screeches as he pierces the straw through the opening. 

San leads the other man to an open table. Through the bustle of the cafe, it's almost impossible to have a decent conversation, but he would be damned if he didn’t at least make an effort. Around the lip of his drink he mumbles, “You sound like an elderly couple.” His friend slumps into the chair with an accosted look. San grins, adding on a dramatic, “Oh, Harold! How ever will we enjoy each other’s company with the children running amuck!” The echoing smack on his kneecap is well-deserved. 

“Shut up, you freak,” Hongjoong laughs. “It’s not like you and Wooyoung are getting wild and crazy with romantic getaways.” 

“That’s because romance is forbidden, dearest Joongie.” 

It’s Hongjoong’s turn to roll his eyes as he takes a sip of his coffee. “You keep saying that, but you also told me he kissed you outside the restaurant.” San nods, unlocking his cell as the topic of conversation sends him a text. On the screen, a photo of an orange and white cat appears. Wooyoung has captioned it with, _ ‘might be becoming a cat person (: he’s just chillin’.  _ “Is that him?” Hongjoong asks, a knowing look on his face. San hums in affirmation just as Hongjoong adds, “You have a stupid look on your face.”

“It’s called a smile,” he squawks, “Why do you all keep saying that to me?” The air fills once again with Hongjoong’s melodic giggle. Like windchimes before a summer storm, it draws the attention of other patrons quickly. As San glances up, the redhead is just grinning ear-to-ear. “What?” He asks.

“It’s just nice to see you happy, Sannie.” His heart pitters slightly at the statement. It was nice to be happy. Even if the reason for his happiness was also growing like a wild raspberry bush. His feelings were going to be the death of him, quite literally, but that did not stop the way they bloomed every time Wooyoung’s face popped into his mind. Instead of pulling them out by the root, he would rather grab the thorn covered vines and hold on tight.

Clad in leather and lace, San feels like he could rule the world and no one could stop him. Originally, he had been completely prepared to wear jeans and a decent top, but Wooyoung refused to let him leave the bedroom until he ransacked the entire wardrobe. Beforehand, the younger’s tongue had been so far down his throat he was surprised that his own voice had not grown hoarse. The man had barely let up even as Mingi and Yunho let themselves into the apartment and loudly announced their arrival. 

Standing before the floor length mirror hanging on the back of his bedroom door, San had to admit that Wooyoung knew how to accentuate his assets. The other boy had pulled a pair of his long forgotten black leather pants from the depths of his dresser and tossed the long sleeve blouse at him from deep within the closet. He distinctly remembered wearing it for college graduation; much to the dismay of his grandparents. The torso was a solid black silk with the illusion of being a button-up, but the balloon-sleeves were a delicate lace embroidered with tiny red roses. It was one of his favorite pieces, but he had long since lost the confidence to wear it in public. 

Wooyoung spins back into the room suddenly; a dopey smile on his lips and aluminum can clutched in the palm of his hand. He sets the drink on the bookcase safely and turns back to the older with a twirl. Giggling, he rises onto his tiptoes and presses a kiss to San’s nose. As his arms wind around his waist, the younger man pulls him into a dance that crosses the line between a waltz and tango. The loud beat of whatever song they’re playing in the common area filters into the room. 

“You look hot,” Wooyoung says; his contagious grin spreading onto San’s face. His heart rate accelerates once again as the other pulls him down by the back of the neck until their lips lock together again. A soft groan leaves San’s throat as Wooyoung brushes his tongue against the seam, asking for permission. For mere seconds, he gives it to him, but pulls away when the other tries to push him against the wall. 

“Woo, Mingi and Yunho are right down the hall,” San mumbles into his palm as Wooyoung’s mouth makes quick work of the sensitive flesh beneath his ear. “These pants are tight enough as is, babe.” A sharp bite makes him release the shrill mewl he was trying to hold back. With the sound, he feels Wooyoung smile against his skin. He presses a soft kiss to the mark before staring up at San with doe-like excellence. 

“Oh, how I would hate to make a mess of you before we even get to the party,” Wooyoung says, throwing a subtle wink in his direction as he pushes them off of the wall. “I guess we can wait til’ after.” San hums quietly.

Somehow, they always came back to the promise of the future. ‘Next time’ and ‘after’ were exchanged like a song between them so often that San was beginning to lose track of just how many moments they had been uttered. Just once, he wished forever was an option. Not the impatient desire of the eventual, just the guarantee that things will come again. Rather than possibly, all he wanted was certainty. But as Wooyoung stares back at him, eyes filled with warmth and mischief, San can only force a chuckle.

“Go easy on the drinks tonight and you can have anything you want when we get back,” San says, hardly minding the way the younger man grabbed his hand and pulled him from the room. Even Mingi’s loud yell as the two emerged didn’t make him let go. So what if Wooyoung did not feel the same way? San could not just press a button to unlove him. The game they were playing was temporary. But the joy in the small apartment as Yunho swung Byeol around to the Circle of Life and Wooyoung sipped the light of the stars like forbidden elixir was eternal. 

“So, Yeosang and Jongho live together? Are they—“ Yunho begins as they stroll down the hall of the aforementioned couple’s complex.

“Gay?” Wooyoung interjects, “Yeah. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?” For a second, Yunho stares back at him as though he’s grown a third eye. Without saying a single word, the tallest member of the group lifts the hand he has intertwined with Mingi’s.

“Boyfriend. Mine,” Yunho stutters, eyes not leaving the brunette’s. Wooyoung smacks himself on the forehead as though the detail completely slipped his mind. “And no, I was going to ask if they’re married.”

“Not yet,” Wooyoung laughs. “Sangie has commitment issues. He loves Jongho, but he also spends so much time at his flower shop taking detailed pictures with drones. If you asked him, he’d probably marry it first.” 

“People still have flower shops?” Mingi asks. 

“You are such a sweet summer angel, Mingi.” San laughs at Wooyoung’s word choice. “Can we keep him, Sannie?” It’s a playful question, but one that makes San’s heart take on hummingbird wings.

“I’ll do you one better, you can have him,” Yunho says, ignoring Mingi’s distressed whine. As they slow to stand in front of one of the apartments, Wooyoung raises his fist to knock. Before the knuckles make contact, however, the door flies open at lightning speeds. Yeosang stands in the entrance with a plush pout.

“I thought you were the take-out.”

“I am a full course meal but—“ The blonde does not hesitate to cuff Wooyoung’s head. Slowly, Yeosang’s attention falls onto the rest of the group. The change in his demeanor is almost immediate as he switched from playful to polite.

His expression is soft, but guarded as he ushers them inside the apartment. “San, it’s nice to see you again.” Coming from anyone else, he would have been suspicious of the phrase. Coming from Yeosang, however, San thinks it as close to brutally honest as one can get.

The decor within the apartment jumps from minimalistic to industrial. Black, white, tan, and green, act as a cohesive color scheme. On the walls, ivy climbs along twisted, dangling faery lights. Potted plants litter the space with a purposeful sense of beauty. Even the long, lace curtains billow into the room like a cottage in the woods. Just beyond them. San can see the balcony staircase that must lead up to the roof. It’s everything but a castle in the middle of Seoul.

“You guys have a stunning place,” San says, eyes wide as he takes in every detail. Yeosang smiles, this time showing his teeth, before he quickly covers his mouth with his hand. It’s brief, but the action catches San off guard. How could someone as precious as the man before him hide such a sight?

Yesoang bows with a careful nod. “Thank you. Jongho and I really like decorating.” Beside him, Wooyoung smirks impishly. Something about the expression makes San wonder which portion of the statement is a lie. In particular, he is willing to bet that Jongho hasn’t the slightest clue about interior decorating. 

The thought is dashed instantly, however, as a screech erupts from outside. “Lord help my soul if you set that glass down without a coaster. That table is unfinished French oak! You will  _ not _ be leaving moisture rings on it,” Jongho’s voice carries through the space easily. Never judge a book by its cover.

“Jongho likes decorating,” Yeosang corrects, a sheepish smile crossing his face. “I like bringing new plants home and telling him to find a place for them.” The group laughs loudly as the blonde points them in the direction of the balcony. “You guys can head up. I promise he won’t bite.”

“Hard,” Wooyoung adds, winking at his best friend. “He will definitely bite.” Yeosang smirks and pushes the younger man’s shoulder lightly. “Do you need money to cover delivery?” Wooyoung makes to pull out his wallet as the other places a cautious hand on his wrist. 

“What kind of host would I be if I made my guests pay?” There’s a glint of something ornery beneath the blonde’s words. It reveals itself more as Wooyoung rolls his eyes and grabs San’s hand, tugging him along. Under his breath, he mumbles something about the amount of fried chicken that is undoubtedly going to show up at the door. 

Slowly, the group climbs the stairs to the roof. Every step makes San’s heart pound with the same staticy anticipation he gets before opening the bar. It’s the reassurance that he’s doing something with his life. The idea that, for once, he is not living just for himself. Wooyoung’s broad shoulders leading the way to the roof is enough to prove that. Even as they wind the corner and are hit with the noise of the party’s bulk, he knows that he came here for more than just the food and drink. 

“Woo! San!” Jongho jogs up to them the moment their feet hit the concrete landing. “I was wondering where the hell you guys were.” He holds out a palm for either a handshake or a high five and immediately San panics. Wooyoung, however, opts for the high five option. The smack resounds through the space as whatever pounding song changes to the next. There are only about thirty people milling around the rooftop, but it is enough for a sizable dancefloor experience. Yeosang reappears just as the group begins to mix drinks at the small bar the couple has set up. Low and behold, he arrives bearing container after container of fried chicken and American-style JoJo’s. Wooyoung chuckles into San’s shoulder at the sight. 

“Told you.” He mumbles into the fabric, pressing a soft kiss against San’s neck as he does so. “What’d you mix?” San holds up his plastic cup of cranberry juice and vodka. He wasn’t aiming to get shit-faced tonight, and really, the drink just seemed refreshing. Wooyoung takes a sip and giggles. “A classic.” 

The feeling of cotton candy and butterfly wings returns to San’s chest at the sound. “Dance with me?” He asks and watches the imaginary sunrise in Wooyoung’s eyes glow like the only hope left in a dystopian universe. He’s beautiful. As he grabs San’s hand again and pulls him onto the dancefloor, all he can think of is the way the party’s light dances in a halo around Wooyoung’s dark strands. 

It’s only one song, or maybe three, but the way Wooyoung’s hips move to the beat choreographs the eulogy that grows in San’s future. The thought is almost bitter. He pushes it away in favor of turning the other around to pull him against his chest. The younger, knowing exactly what he is doing, grinds down just enough to make San gasp quietly into his ear. They lose themselves to the beat for what feels like hours. It’s only when he’s sweating profusely that he taps the other’s hip a few times. 

“I’m going to get another drink,” He says. Wooyoung turns to him with a soft expression before placing a kiss on his cheek. As San makes his way back to the mixing station, a familiar figure appears at his side. Yeosang offers him a guarded smile as he pours tequila into his cup. The blonde slides him the bottle of vodka resting daintily against the table’s hyacinth and baby’s breath centerpiece. San twists the cap off with ease, pouring just enough to meet the midline of the container, and Yeosang whistles softly. 

“Bartender skills?” He asks, an easy grin emerging onto his lips. “Wooyoung really lucked out with you, Sannie.” San laughs at the nickname and searches for the cranberry juice. The bottle seems to be missing, however, which means that he’ll have to either pick an alternative or drink it straight. His options are about equivalent as he shrugs and tosses a bit of the drink back. It hits his throat with a dull burn and the distinct scent he has always associated with rubbing alcohol and hospitals. Nasty. 

As he lets the cup rest in his palm, he meets the other’s gaze once again. “He gets cheap alcohol and I get the hottest dancer in the room,” San says. The blonde laughs and, immediately, his cold facade melts off of him like ice on summer asphalt. San doesn’t speak again before the other man turns to walk away. He pauses for a moment, casting a look back over his shoulder. 

“Hey, San?” His voice mimics the honey-sweet drip of molasses.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” He says, lifting his cup in acknowledgement. “Thank you for finding Wooyoung. And thank you for not letting him go.” He tilts the plastic container in the direction of the dancer, who twists to the melody of whatever song reverberates from the speakers along with Mingi, Yunho, and Jongho. The sight makes San’s face tingle as he smiles widely. Yeosang jogs over to the group, his drink sloshing messily as one arm snakes around Jongho’s neck. The brunette immediately laughs and wraps his hands around Yeosang’s waist. The blonde’s feet come off of the ground as Jongho spins the older around playfully. The same beautiful giggle echoes, and clear as day, San can see their story. 

They say that bonded pairs are rare. Somehow, though, everyone in his life had apparently found theirs. From his grandparents to his friends, it was as though they all found their perfect puzzle piece. And maybe...His gaze locks onto Wooyoung’s. His arms open wide, beckoning San into them, and he complies without a second thought. Wind ruffles his hair as he sprints into the other’s embrace. Wooyoung’s laughter, brilliant and deafening, is the only thing he wants to hear for the rest of his life. Without a doubt. He loves him. _ Without a doubt. _

It’s hardly past midnight when they leave the rooftop. Touches too low, too fleeting, had taken control of the duo, and frankly, San knew what he had promised Wooyoung earlier in the night. By the time his bare back is pressed against the inside of his apartment door, he can barely remember the walk home. The only thing that sticks out in his mind is Wooyoung. His mouth on San’s neck. His arms around his waist. His teeth along his jaw. Even now, with the younger man sucking marks onto the sensitive skin of his collarbone, he’s the only thing San knows. 

“Youngie, fuck,” San groans, his hips chasing friction that he knows is inevitable. Wooyoung, on the other hand, angles his body so that San’s crotch cannot meet his own. “Babe, please.” Wooyoung laughs into his hair, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead, and pushes his bangs back until San is forced to look into his eyes.

“I need to know if you really want to do this.”

“Of course I do, Wooyoung,” He gulps.  _ Has it always been so difficult to breathe?  _ His heart races as Wooyoung’s arms wrap beneath his ass. San isn’t heavy, not in the slightest, but some part of the action is so intimate that he can’t fight the wicked blush that dips onto his cheeks. Wooyoung totes him easily into the bedroom. With little grace, the younger tosses him onto the mattress with a yelp. His body bounces, but within seconds, Wooyoung is straddling his hips with a devilish smirk. He pulls at San’s wrists until they are pinned far above his head. 

✦✧✦ “Safe word?” It’s a question, but the way he says it makes it sound more like a demand. Something in the back of the mind burns with the desire to comply so they can move forward. However, the bratty portion makes him choke out a laugh. 

Into the air, he says, “What? Are you planning on playing it that rough tonight?” He can’t help it. It’s not that he’s never had a safe word. It’s just as important as verbal consent. But something about the way Wooyoung suggests it alienates the feelings that San has been fighting against. It reiterates in a pounding voice that what they have, this part of their relationship, is just for the physical touch. The feeling of another’s hands on their bodies and the hot swell of someone’s lips pushing against their own. It’s for the benefits and nothing else. Like helping your high school best friend get off for the first time to help them ‘practice’. Wooyoung doesn’t respond to the sass, however. Instead, he frowns and breaks all contact with San until he’s positioned on the edge of the bed. “Wooyoung?”

The brunette shakes his head slightly, brows furrowed, and shrugs. His voice is low as he says, “Sannie, you need to take this seriously.” He pulls himself inward until his arms are wrapped around his torso. “I don’t feel right doing this without one.” The confession hits San’s chest with an audible impact. Shoving his emotions back into the recesses of his mind, San moves until he is able to drape himself over Wooyoung’s shoulders.

“Angel.” Wooyoung startles at the word. His body twists until he’s able to face San completely. “I want our safeword to be angel.” 

“But people call each other that–”

“I won’t,” San says, “Trust me, the word won’t leave my lips unless I really need it to.” His voice is soft. It’s as though he is afraid of scaring the younger away. So long as he can continue keeping the secret he has learned to hold tight, hopefully, the other won’t run away screaming. Wooyoung nods softly, plush lips and delicate tone testing out the word a few times before smiling at San once more.

“Angel it is then.” With that, San captures his lips gently. It’s far more careful than they had been all night. Even as Wooyoung’s tongue traces the inner seam of his mouth, entering slowly, the action is tediously planned. Every motion seems to be laguid and precise. So absolutely relaxed, but intricate and full of everything neither can show on the surface. 

Wooyoung pushes him back until his spine presses into the comforter. His tongue traces a hot line down San’s neck, peppering kisses along his throat, until he reaches the silken collar of the blouse. San’s hands dip beneath the fabric of the brunette’s shirt, rubbing fire into the sensitive skin, and Wooyoung melts beneath his touch. Wooyoung’s fingers dance along his bare stomach, rucking up the material of the top until it reveals San’s nipples. Even as the chilled air brushes over his skin like morning dew, it does not have time to settle as Wooyoung warms every available section of his body. 

The brunette leans lower until his teeth latch onto a vulnerable bud. San keens loudly, back arching from the mattress, and tries to thrust his hands deep into the other’s hair. Without releasing the skin, though, Wooyoung snags both of his wrists and pins them back to the bed. San, numb to anything that isn’t the sharp tingling from the younger’s ministrations, vaguely processes the action as something Wooyoung must enjoy; having complete control over San’s body. The thought ignites something in the pit of San’s stomach as he groans again, this time into Wooyoung’s mouth as the other returns to kiss him filthily. San’s beautiful blouse is pulled from his body and tossed dramatically across the room. He does not even care where it lands as Wooyoung’s mouth drags down his chest again. 

“Shirt. Off.” San utters, wriggling under Wooyoung’s grasp until the other grins against his skin. The brunette pulls off with an obscene noise and teases San with glimpses of his golden stomach. He mimes taking off the top, winking as he does, until the older whines pathetically. With a laugh, Wooyoung finally tugs the fabric over his head. It sails after San’s, knocking over a stack of books on his desk, and the two pause for a second. 

When silence weighs over them, and nothing else appears to fall or shatter, San can’t stifle his laughter. Even as Wooyoung pulls the waistband of the leather pants and underwear down in one swoop. Even as he presses soft kisses and nips at the inside of San’s thighs. Even as the hot, wet heat of his mouth takes San in to the hilt. They laugh. It’s a song; a harmony that San never expected to hear. The sun after the longest storm and the humidity that followed. San laughs as Wooyoung’s tongue traces to his ass and then laps at his entrance. Through his moaning cries, he laughs. As Wooyoung mumbles something about protection, they laugh.

They stop laughing only when Wooyoung pulls the bottle of lube and a condom out of the top drawer of San’s nightstand. Instead, they replace the joyful sound with something more passionate. Gentle mewls and gasps of pleasure. The uncomfortable squelch that does make San giggle wildly until Wooyoung thrusts one finger into him. And then minutes later, a second. And a third. By the time the sting of being scissored open dulls, Wooyoung is in his ear whispering sweet praises. 

“Can I?” Wooyoung asks, breathless. 

“Please,” San whines. It’s more lube. It’s a torn open condom package and a laugh as Wooyoung struggles to roll it on as his hands tremble. It’s what San does not see beneath the surface as he instead shuts his eyes tightly and waits for the pressure. When it comes, San can’t stop himself from arching off the bed again. Wooyoung’s length slides home, pressing into San’s warmth and probing until he strikes the bundle of nerves that makes the other man tear at the sheets. 

Maybe it could have been prevented. The way San’s brain runs on overdrive the moment things go white. Or the way he cries helplessly, digging his nails into Wooyoung’s skin, as the other finishes seconds later. Maybe it could have been prevented if he only remembered his angel’s warning. But instead, the echoing phrase is nowhere to be found as San begins to drift into unconsciousness. It’s not where to be found as his lips collect the salt of Wooyoung’s sweat as he mumbles an indiscernible phrase into the other’s neck. Wooyoung pulls out of him carefully before flipping unceremoniously onto his back.

✧✦✧ “What did you say?” He asks.

San doesn’t register the way his voice comes out. He doesn’t process the terror that falls over Wooyoung’s expression. He doesn’t even see it, because his eyes are screwed shut and he’s already falling asleep. But the words surface nonetheless. 

“I said I love you, Wooyoung.”

San doesn’t expect the hangover when it hits him in the morning. Light filters through the open window, the one he was certain he closed last night, and the curtains sway softly in the breeze. Rolling over, he seeks out Wooyoung’s warm body, only to find the other side of the bed empty and cold. His heart drops far into his stomach. Acid rolls through his veins like rain dripping down glass window panes. Fog settles over his mind, the night’s events replaying like twisted film reels. The party, his back pressed against the front door, Wooyoung, the sex. He remembers it all. Worst of all, he can hear his own hardly coherent voice as it spilled a secret he kept so tightly under lock and key.  _ I love you, Wooyoung. _

His stomach lurches, rolling like the sea, and he flings himself to the trash can sitting next to his desk just in time to empty the limited contents in his body. He heaves and heaves until nothing comes up. And even then, when he curls into a tight ball on the floor, he shakes as though the world around him is nothing more than a gift-shop snow globe at the mercy of a fascinated toddler. His phone titters from the bedside table, but he lets the sound reverberate through the space. He left. Wooyoung left him behind. San doesn’t feel the tears as they build in the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t feel the chilled hardwood flooring under his naked body. He doesn’t feel fucking anything. His phone chimes again. He doesn’t check it.

Three days later, he’s called off of work twice. Seonghwa, a benevolent god, asks no questions. Instead, he brings coffee and soup. When he sits beside San’s bed, carefully setting up a small TV tray with artistic precision, the only thing he asks is, “Do you want to be alone?” And San can only shake his head.

The apartment becomes a revolving door for his friends. Good omens in their own right, each one makes it a point to stop by once or twice daily. Yunho brings caffeine and pastries from the cafe; Mingi manga and video games. They sit with him until he finishes a meal and pass the time brushing his hair away from his face. 

Hongjoong stumbles in looking worse for wear every time. His red hair faded into a dainty pink and under eyes stained with ever present dark circles, San can hardly ask him what’s wrong. His answers are vague each time. Some days, it’s the weather. Others, the amount of sleep he’s getting at night. It’s only when San pushes hard enough that the stained glass window between them shatters into a million, iridescent fractals.

“I miss your smile,” Hongjoong says, his arms tightly wrapped around his midsection. “You’re a sunflower, Sannie; beautiful and delicate. Every time you smile, it’s like watching the clouds break for the first time in weeks.” His usually warm brown eyes are dull as they meet San’s. “It’s been raining for a while now.” Outside, the sky is clear. A brilliant blue. The sun shines just as it would on any other summer day. Hongjoong stops sharing playlists with him.

Two weeks in, San uses a butterknife to dismantle a pencil sharpener. He pulls the top off as though he’s going to empty it and digs the rounded tip into the screw holding one of the two razors in place. He picks the one connected to the larger hole, knowing it will be sharper from less use. He remembers what it feels like to open himself up and see if roses really do sprout from beneath his rib cage. It works to numb the pain for a while.

It isn’t Wooyoung’s fault. San knew, all along, that this was what he was getting into. That the payoff was not the outcome he would want. Some part of him hoped that it was a mixup. That he didn’t believe in love or angels and they could take it all back.

Three weeks in, he goes back to work as though nothing happened. The others watch him from a cautious distance before they slip into a common routine once more. He goes to the bar and dedicates his nights mixing drinks for people who are probably in similar boats. He lets random men push him into the bathroom stalls and add to the long gone marks that Wooyoung left. The ones that exist beneath his skin and welt inside his heart. They don’t ask about the thin red lines that cover his thighs, ribs, and torso. They don’t even really see him, let alone the things he does when he is alone.

It’s a month and two weeks after that night when he remembers the full bottle of prescription Amitriptyline in his bathroom cabinet. A month and three weeks when he sends a single text to the person who had slowly begun to teach him what it meant to be a sidewalk daisy in a rainstorm. He makes the conscious decision to leave the key to his apartment tied to the outside doorknob. He sits on the bathroom tile and counts the horizontal lines that mimic gored lighting. He adds a few more hoping the stinging ache will press against the denim on his jeans in just the right way to stave off the static in his mind a little longer. He turns his phone off and stares at himself in the mirror. He fell in love. And it was worth it. He succumbs to the bottle of medication, three pills at a time, until his breathing labors and his body shakes. 

And this is not what he wants. The toiling of his stomach does not help him induce vomiting. His weak limbs do not cooperate. The pounding of boots on the hall floor does not alarm him enough to help him lift his head from the toilet seat. This is not what he wants. He wants to go home. 

“San!” Wooyoung’s voice is the only thing that cracks through the static. It’s broken and panicked. Behind him, he hears the others. Mingi’s deep call, Hongjoong’s teary one. He wonders if he’ll look like his mother when his older sister found her. Sleeping; timeless. Angelic. He wonders who will tell his sister— his grandparents. Caesar.  _ Byeol _ . He whines loudly.  _ He wants to go home. _

Strong arms pull him against a warm chest. The scent of lavender and honeysuckle wafts over him like a comfortable blanket. He never really could pinpoint what Wooyoung smelled like until now. It’s different, only just, and San thinks that maybe he changed his body wash. Or shampoo.

“Sannie, stay with me, okay? Baby, please,” The voice is distant and muffled by a thousand leagues of water. “San, I need you to focus on me. Can you look at me?” He tries. He really does, but everything swims in a blurry, pixelated sort of reality. 

Mingi’s voice chokes through the static too, “They’re three minutes out. They’ll be here.” It’s garbled and he sounds sad. ‘ _ Who would ever make Mingi sound so sad?’  _ San thinks. If it was Yunho, he would have to have a stern talking to. 

“Tell them to fucking hurry up!” That one is Hongjoong. San tries to laugh, but instead makes a horrible choking noise. “They’re an emergency service for God’s sake,” The oldest sobs. “Wooyoung called them before he even called us!”

Wooyoung’s grip tightens. He pushes his face against San’s hair until his mouth is right next to his ear. It’s a whisper, but somehow San can pick out exactly what he says. “This is what I was so scared of, baby. I need you to come back to me. I need you to stay with me so I can apologize in every way I know how and then some. I’ve already seen you go so many times, Sannie, I can’t do it again.” Fat, wet tears splash against San’s collarbone. “Please, please, don’t leave me behind. I love you more than the sun and all her stars.”

San feels his last petal drop onto the concrete sidewalk. Beneath him, the cracks beckon him to retreat for the winter. To become one with the soil until it is time to rise again. Above him, the raging storm mumbles apology and after apology for his untimely end. 

“It’s not your fault,” He sings to the storm. “You are only just now learning to love.” Without a doubt, he follows the call of nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TLDR: San invites Mingi and Yunho to Yeosang's party. Afterwards, Wooyoung and San have sex, but San accidentally slips up and tells Wooyoung that he is in love with him. Wooyoung leaves in the morning and neither speaks to the other for almost two months. San falls back into his unhealthy coping mechanisms and eventually makes an attempt on his life. Wooyoung, Mingi, and Hongjoong, call an ambulance, and stay with San until the first responders arrive. San is unconscious by the time they do.
> 
> Hello loves! Thank you so much for reading this chapter. It was a rough one to write, but this is the one that really kickstarted the whole thing, so I couldn't alter it out of the plot. It took a lot to put this out there for personal reasons. Even so, thank you for reading it and sticking around to the end. There is obviously one more chapter after this, but I just wanted to express how grateful I am for all of you. 
> 
> As always, find me on Twitter, CuriousCat, and Instagram as: @KyojinOuji  
> (I always follow back and love new moots! Plus, you get an inside look at whatever I'm working on.)
> 
> Cheers!


	7. You - Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of suicide and self-harm.

> _“If you must wait, wait for them here in my arms as I shake._
> 
> _If you must weep, do it right here in my bed as I sleep_
> 
> _If you must mourn, my love, mourn with the moon and the stars up above._
> 
> _If you must mourn, don't do it alone._
> 
> _If you must leave, leave as though fire burns under your feet._
> 
> _If you must speak, speak every word as though it were unique._
> 
> _If you must die, sweetheart, die knowing your life was my life's best part._
> 
> _If you must die, remember your life.”_
> 
> **_You -_ ** _Keaton Henson_
> 
> * * *

From Adonis’ spilled blood, anemones in stark red sprung forth. And for those that pass on wretched battlefields, a poppy commemorates their life. Crimson. The world is crimson as San pulls back into reality. Groggily, he processes a room he does not recognize. 

Large windows framed by long beige curtains cast off to the left. From them, the sunset forces its way into the space with little regard for others. It is vivid. Alive. Gold and scarlet against the leafy green treetops. The cityscape moves below him; nothing having slowed even slightly. _Why would it?_ He tears his gaze from the view only to land on a mop of dark hair beside him. 

Wooyoung’s arms are folded beneath his chin. His long eyelashes brush against his cheekbones like delicate moth wings. San does not stop himself from running his thumb along the mole beneath the man’s eye. Wooyoung stirs softly, a sigh escaping his lips, before his lashes flutter wildly. Within seconds, San finds himself meeting the other’s dark gaze. Neither speaks. Everything freezes until all at once, the world seems to erupt into color and sound.

“Sannie?” Wooyoung asks. The dancer’s voice wavers with tentative sincerity. Terror. His face is laced with terror. And San’s heart shatters. Not trusting himself to speak, he hums quietly. Immediately, Wooyoung bursts into heaving sobs. San flings his arms around the other, wanting nothing more than to comfort him, but the brunette whines. “Don’t be nice to me. Please, I can’t let you do that. Not after what I did.” It’s hard to think, cotton filling his mind like the polyfill stuffing of a forgotten teddy bear. How long was he out? 

San sighs quietly, tugging Wooyoung closer until he’s half on the bed, and buries his nose in his hair. “Didn’t listen,” He mumbles, taking in the lavender scent. It was his shampoo all along. The brunette wiggles carefully, trying not to jostle the wires connected to the older man, and frowns. His eyes are swollen, San realizes, and his heart burns painfully at the sight. 

“What did you say?” Wooyoung asks gently. 

“I said I didn’t listen. I’m sorry,” His voice breaks, choked off by a horrendous sob. “You told me not to fall in love with you and I did. I’m sorry.” 

Wooyoung stares back at him with a defeated expression. His voice is soft, hardly even loud enough for San to hear, as he says, “Don’t you dare apologize to me. You did nothing wrong.” His arms wrap around San’s neck. Cautiously, he presses his forehead against the other’s. “The only thing I need to hear right now is that this,” He motions at the room around them. San sees now that it’s a hospital room. By the sight of it, an isolated one without a roommate. “Will never happen again.”

“I can’t–” 

“San,” Wooyoung’s fingers intertwine with those that he has tucked tightly into his lap. “You can.” His eyes glimmer with distant hope. An unspoken future. “Hongjoong and Mingi told me everything. It felt wrong, not coming from you directly, but they knew that you would never tell me on your own. You’re too selfless.” 

San feels the warm tears spill down his cheeks before he processes the intense emotion that punches into his gut. His throat begs him to breathe as the atmosphere threatens to suffocate him. He utters, “What I did wasn’t selfless, Woo. I tried to escape everything and run away from all of my issues. I refused to get help even when everyone offered. That was the most selfish thing I could have done.” Wooyoung shakes his head, threading his fingers through the soft hair at the nape of San’s neck. 

“A lot of that is correct.” San sucks in a sharp breath as the younger man continues to speak. “You’re forgetting, though, that you’re human. Mistakes happen, San. Horrible, hurtful mistakes that no one ever wants to hear come from the person they love. When they’re stopped in time, love,” Wooyoung pushes the hair from the other’s eyes, “They can be fixed. Healing is never going to be instant, but if you are willing enough to do it, it is always possible.

I made a lot of mistakes, San. My job was to keep you safe, but somehow I managed to do the exact opposite. Loving someone is not a fault. An accident, sometimes, but it is never a cause for blame. It’s entirely, and beautifully, intricate. Fast or slow, falling hurts. I thought I could keep you from that pain if I begged you not to fall. That alone was my biggest mistake.”

San can feel the way his heart thunders in his chest. The lacey palpitations that threaten so willingly to smother him. The way Wooyoung stares at him, as though he knows all of the inner workings of his mind, makes the risk worth it. “You’re human too,” San says, brushing his thumb along the high point of Wooyoung’s cheekbone. “You’re human too.” He repeats it as though it is a growing chant; as though speaking it will make it even more true. 

Wooyoung nods and adds a tiny, “As human as someone like me can be.” He doesn’t complain when San presses a light kiss to his forehead. Instead, he sighs in relief. They sit in comfortable silence, the machines beeping to their own melody, before the younger finally pushes away from his embrace. “I need to let the doctors know you’re awake. There’s a guard right outside the door, he’s going to come in to watch you when I leave. They probably won’t let me back in, but just know that I’m only going to be in the waiting room, okay?”

The words come as bullets straight to San’s lungs. His breath is swept away without a moment to spare and Wooyoung immediately notices the way his face pales. As the other man tightens his grip on his fingers, San asks, “What are they going to do to me?” The question hangs in the air between them before Wooyoung laughs humorlessly. 

“Baby,” He says, “They’re just going to talk to you about treatment plans.” When San frowns, the brunette forces him to meet his gaze. “San, they can’t let you just walk out of here after what happened. It’s gonna take time.” 

“But Byeol–” He starts, but Wooyoung waves off the question quickly. 

“Seonghwa is packing up her stuff for me. She’s going to come stay at my apartment until you’re back home.” Wooyoung finally stands and wraps his arms around San’s shoulders. “We’ll get you there, but you just have to listen to what the doctors suggest, okay, love?” The word makes his heart blossom into something sunny. Far from a poppy or an anemone. San hums softly. As Wooyoung’s form retreats from the room, he casts one glance back at the man in the bed. It’s a look that San knows, without a doubt, will stick within the recesses of his memory forever. In Wooyoung’s eyes, he sees a hopeful future. He sees love.

The first seventy-two hours of his stay in the psychiatric ward are required. The following five days, however, are of his own free will. It’s miserable. Every waking moment, someone looms over him to make sure that he isn’t a threat to his own safety. Meals are watched over with hawk-like precision and his pills are administered as though he is a prisoner to his own mind. They would be completely correct to assume that. And maybe, he would act out if it wasn’t for the promise of a light blazing brightly in the distance. Maybe, he would refuse the treatment and psychological assessments they schedule him for after his release. Of course, he doesn’t. Getting better has never been about taking the easy route. It’s a grueling process of reteaching himself to care about his body as though it is more than a graveyard. Love is not only about others. 

It is, however, the driving force behind his remission. And as they finalize the appointments and give him the paperwork to better understand his treatment, he walks down the hallway with a stringless hoodie and a bag of his belongings. Underneath his boots is a set of non-skid yellow socks, printed with smiling emojis. The first time they handed him a pair, he couldn’t stop the manic laughter that erupted from his chest. The nurses did not see the ironic humor. 

The first thing he sees when he exits the locked down hallway of the ward is not Wooyoung’s smiling face. Instead, it’s the flash of two red-headed beasts charging in his direction. Mingi is the first to fling himself into San’s arms, almost taking them both down, and his sobs echo through the nearly empty waiting room. Hongjoong wraps himself around San’s other side; his own cries muffled by the fabric of his sweatshirt. 

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Hongjoong mumbles. “Never, and I mean never, pull that kind of shit again. I’ll bring you back and kill you myself.” San pretends not to feel the tears that soak into his shirt. Instead, he holds onto Hongjoong’s trembling form as though it is the last tether to the mortal world. Mingi does not speak. He sobs uncontrollably while San does everything in his power to keep the trio upright. He doesn’t mind, however, because it’s a reminder. It’s the same mantra the doctors have been telling him for days on end. The same reassuring chant that echoes like something Gregorian in his mind. _You deserve to love. You are worth being loved._ As he meets Wooyoung’s eyes across the room, shouldered by Yunho, Seonghwa, Yeosang, and Jongho, he knows that they are completely correct. 

Therapy is not a cure-all. It does not erase the feelings of hopelessness and self-doubt from San’s life. There are still nights that he bolts up in their bed; drenched in a cold sweat with the lingering memories of burning cars and broken bridges. Those are the moments that haunt him; not the future or the fear of the unknown. His only fear has become death itself; the same figure he danced so tenderly with before. And the guardian angel, curled up against his side with Byeol on his hip, and bathed in the silver moonlight of heaven’s distant caress, is the one that sparked the ember that grew into a blazing flame. 

“You okay?” His husband asks, sitting up only enough to press a soft kiss to San’s bare shoulder. The older hums quietly, brushing Wooyoung’s dark hair from his forehead, and wraps his arms around the other. “Love you,” the angel mutters, before pulling them both onto the mattress carefully. Within seconds, his breathing evens out enough that San knows he has drifted off again. He follows quickly; consumed by a field of lavender and honeysuckle.

There were no more warnings or visions; no clues dropped for them to avoid like pot-holes in a barren road. There was only risk and the inevitable chance to make one hundred mistakes. There was only life. And that alone made it worth living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, loves! Here is the quickest update I have ever posted in my life. I just needed to wrap up this fic because I figured some joy was needed in these trying times. I started Eyes in the Mirror before things became insufferable and it just didn't feel right to keep dragging out the angst. This fic is honestly really dear to me and I was glad to have worked on it over the last few weeks. 
> 
> I'll be revisiting my other series, Who Will Breathe the Earth We Lost, with some spin-offs soon. If you haven't checked that one out, I would love if you did! I'll also be back with two other AUs I already have planned, so look out for those. 
> 
> Until then, find me on Twitter, Insta, or Curious Cat: @KyojinOuji  
> (I always follow back and love new friends so don't be afraid to interact!) 
> 
> Stay safe and cheers,  
> \- Baz


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